


Broken Parts

by rose_malmaison



Series: Broken Parts [1]
Category: NCIS
Genre: After Mexico Gibbs, Angst, Experienced!McGee, First Time, Gibbs after being shot by Luke, Gibbs is a bastard, Gibbs/DiNozzo pre-slash - Freeform, Gibbs/McGee explicit, Happy Ending, Injured McGee, Kinky sex, M/M, Memory Loss, Past and Present, Rough Gibbs, Rough Sex, Secret Relationship, Tali - Freeform, Tony returns, Unrequited Love, whips + cuffs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-25
Updated: 2017-05-25
Packaged: 2018-11-04 15:37:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 25,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10993875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rose_malmaison/pseuds/rose_malmaison
Summary: After returning from Mexico, a messed-up Gibbs stumbles his way through an affair with McGee before getting his act together. 11 years later, after being shot by Luke, Gibbs has an even harder time recovering, and takes it out on Tony, whom he secretly loves. McGee takes charge and forces him to confront his feelings, and make things right with Tony before it’s too late.





	1. Somebody That I Used to Know

**Author's Note:**

> Notes: I was just saying I needed to get out of my slump, and try something different, and… along came the Reverse Bang with fanart created by PeR that got my imagination going. This is Gibbs/McGee-centric, with a good bit of the story from McGee’s perspective, but it’s pretty obvious that bastard Gibbs has always been in love with Tony, and that he needs to do something about it.   
> Written for the: NCIS Reverse Bang 2017 http://ncis-bang.livejournal.com/  
> Slash; Gibbs/McGee, Gibbs/DiNozzo pre-slash  
> Genre: angst, relationships  
> Rating: mature  
> Spoilers: up to season 14  
> Time Spans: PAST: 2006, shortly after Gibbs returns from Mexico  
>  PRESENT: 2017, 1½ years after Tony leaves NCIS  
> Artist: Per, aka Pere1804  
> Thanks to: betas Jacie and Cutsycat, and my fabulous artist who inspired me, Per

**BROKEN PARTS  
** **by rose malmaison**

Thanks to: betas Jacie and Cutsycat.  
And many thanks to my fabulous artist who inspired me, Per, aka Pere1804

<< >> << >> << >>

 

_“We don’t have good days now. You spend too much time thinking about the past. . . Things are different. It’s about the future now.” ~ Kelly Gibbs in episode 13x1, “Stop the Bleeding”_

 

**CHAPTER 1 - Somebody That I Used to Know**

_You can get addicted to a certain kind of sadness,_  
_Like resignation to the end, always the end._  
_So when we found that we could not make sense,_  
_Well, you said that we would still be friends._  
_But I'll admit that I was glad that it was over…_

~ from "Somebody That I Used To Know" sung by Gotye, featuring Kimbra

 

**Present day, Gallagher’s, Washington, DC, October, 2017**

 

With shoulders hunched against the cold rain, Tim McGee hurried across the busy street and headed for Gallagher’s. He’d had trouble finding a parking space – no surprise in downtown DC. Tim hated being late, not just because his military dad had instilled in him the need for punctuality, but because he was meeting Gibbs for dinner.

 

It was his idea, inviting Gibbs out for a meal. He was surprised that his boss had accepted so readily. Gibbs seldom ate at restaurants, and rarely hung out with his team, not any more. There had been a time when they’d all gathered for holidays – the team as a family – and they’d even enjoyed a mid-summer barbeque or two at Gibbs’ house, but those days were long gone.

 

Tim hadn’t seen Gibbs in several weeks, and he needed to update him, and to talk about the future. It wasn’t the kind of conversation he wanted to have in front of an audience at NCIS, or even over the phone. A couple of days ago, when he’d called Gibbs and asked him out, there had been a brief pause, but he had said yes, without asking for details.

 

After brushing the raindrops off his shoulders, Tim pulled open the restaurant’s heavy door with one hand, and stepped inside. He was extra careful not to bump his left arm as he stepped over the threshold and the door swung back at him. This was the first time since he’d been shot that he’d walked around without a sling. Even a casual nudge was incredibly painful, as he’d found out earlier when he’d gotten into his car.

 

The first thing Tim noticed was how much Gallagher’s had improved. It used to be a no-frills Irish bar, but a young couple had recently converted it into a more upscale eatery, with locally sourced, traditional Irish food, with eighteen craft beers on tap. Now there were comfortable-looking booths and intimate lighting, nice enough you could bring a date there. Not that this was a date, Tim thought, with a chuckle. Just a meeting between colleagues.

 

The hostess approached with a professional smile, just as Tim spotted Gibbs. He was seated at a booth, way in the back. Tim indicated his party was already there, and she left him to find his own way. Gibbs had the ever-present mug of coffee in front of him, and as Tim drew near, he took in the aroma of the rich, dark brew. “Hey, Boss. Coffee smells good. Better than that diner coffee,” he said with a smile.

 

Gibbs allowed, “Yeah, good coffee. From Africa, the gal said.” He gave Tim a once-over, and said, “I was just gonna order.”

 

Tim carefully shrugged out of his overcoat, undid his suit jacket, and loosened his tie a little. “Sorry to keep you waiting.” Gibbs gave a small shake of his head, indicating it was no big deal. Tim could feel the older man assessing him as he slid into the booth and laid his coat beside him. He’d come from a meeting and so was wearing one of his nicer suits, finely tailored and expensive. Tony would have approved, if he’d seen him… if he wasn’t halfway around the world.

 

Tim sat back and had a good look at Gibbs. He’d gained back some of the weight he’d lost a year and a half ago, after being shot in Iraq. Although the lighting was flattering, it couldn’t disguise the tired look around Gibbs’ eyes. “You doing okay, Boss?” Tim asked, even though he knew his concern wasn’t going to be appreciated.

 

“Fine.” Gibbs immediately put on his ‘I’m the boss and you can’t interrogate me’ face, and turned the question around. “What about you? Tell me about the arm.”

 

“It’s…coming along. The PT has helped a lot…” Before Tim could say anything more, their server came over. She told them the specials, and asked if they wanted a drink. “I’m ready to order now,” Tim said, checking with a glance that it was okay with Gibbs. Quickly skimming the menu, he decided on the chicken pot pie. “And a Murphy’s Irish Red, please.”

 

Gibbs indicated he needed more coffee, and said he’d have the beef-and-stout stew. Once the server had refilled his coffee and left, Gibbs stared pointedly at the lower half of Tim’s face, and demanded, “What’s with the face fuzz?”

 

“Face fuzz? Oh yeah…” Tim ran a hand over his goatee. It had grown in thicker than he’d expected. He was happy with it, thought it made him look the part of an accomplished writer, which he was, if what the critics were saying was anything to go by. He’d been working on a new series of spy thrillers over the past few years. He already had two books under his belt, another was soon to be published. The reviews of the first two had been positive, and he was making far more money on royalties than he had on all five of the _Deep Six_ books combined. Tim had retired that series years ago, to the relief of his teammates, and had gone on to develop a set of new, original characters that bore no resemblance to any of his colleagues. Aware that Gibbs was waiting for a reply about the facial hair, Tim raised his chin and said, a little defensively, “Delilah likes my goatee.”

 

Gibbs gave a snort. “People either love the scruff or hate it. Everyone gave me hell when I grew a beard. They hated the mustache even more. Wasn’t there some kind of office pool, on when I’d shave…?” His voice trailed off, and he frowned into his coffee cup.

 

“Yeah, Tony won a couple hundred dollars, and kept telling everybody how he’d had a gut feeling. That was a long time ago, Boss,” Tim said gently. Eleven years had passed, and they’d all changed a lot; he knew _he_ had. Age and experience brought confidence, so much so that sometimes he almost didn’t recognize himself.

 

Gibbs had just returned from Baja after a four-month absence, and although he had covered it up pretty well, it was apparent that his memory still had some significant gaps in it. Once Gibbs’ team members got over the initial surprise, they welcomed their boss back with open arms. Maybe not so much Tony though. He’d worked hard at filling the role of team leader in Gibbs’ absence, and it soon became apparent that he wasn’t willing to simply step aside.

 

The general expectation that everything was going to magically return to normal, just because Gibbs was there, was soon dashed. Gibbs wasted no time in making it clear he wasn’t interested in coming back to work at NCIS. He had come back for the sole purpose of helping Ziva get out of a tight jam. That was all.

 

Gibbs did as he promised, and got Ziva cleared of murder and espionage charges – and had almost been blown up for his trouble. As soon as the case was wrapped up, he walked out on the team without a word, and once again, they were left in limbo.

 

Before Gibbs could head for the border, Fornell caught up with him. He roped Gibbs into helping him chase down an escaped felon they’d once put away. The escapee, Paulson, had threatened Fornell’s young daughter, compelling the FBI agent to re-open an old investigation. Of course the guy claimed he was innocent, but it didn’t take long to discover there were irregularities in the original investigation.

 

The whole time they were on the case, Gibbs made resentful remarks about how he should be on a beach, sipping tequila, or building a hot tub, or whatever. He made it clear that he didn’t give a crap about anyone or anything; he either growled at people or outright ignored them. To make matters worse, he called Tony by the wrong name. Tim still believed Gibbs did that on purpose, though he didn’t know why. Gibbs didn’t make any attempt to repair his fractured friendship with Ducky, and, in a defiant gesture, he had his unfinished sailboat removed from his basement and put his house on the market.

 

Abby was so upset at the prospect of Gibbs being a flight risk, that she made plans to handcuff him to herself. Tim pointed out that it was futile. “Gibbs can pick a lock as well as you. Besides, he’s like a wild animal, and you can’t keep a fox locked in a cage.” Abby, who often referred to Gibbs as her Silver Fox, seemed appeased by the analogy.

 

The handcuffs, it turned out, weren’t necessary. For no apparent reason, Gibbs took his house off the market, although he didn’t unpack any of the boxes stacked in the basement. Neither did the boat magically reappear.

 

As Gibbs took lead on the next case, it became obvious – to Tim, anyway – that he was struggling to remember things. He’d be doing something he’d done a thousand times before, like reaching into his desk drawer for something, only to pause, a blank look on his face. He’d soon recover, but either he was having absent moments, or he couldn’t recall where something was located. There was no helping him, either. The man was as stubborn as shit, and acted as if there was nothing wrong with his memory. Any attempt to talk to him was impatiently brushed away. Tim did not have high hopes for Gibbs’ longevity on the job, and it wasn’t long before his teammates caught on and started to cast worried looks Gibbs’ way.

 

Every day when he went in to work, Tim braced himself, expecting to find the boss had walked out on them, once again. But, every day, Gibbs would already be there when Tim arrived, sitting at the desk, half-hidden in the alcove at the rear of the bullpen. And then one day, without warning, Gibbs reclaimed his old desk. He just took all of Tony’s stuff and dumped it in his workspace. Never said a word to him – no explanation, no thanks for keeping my seat warm, no nothing. It was an odd version of musical desks, with Gibbs controlling when the music stopped.

 

Being pushed aside, demoted without a word, and basically humiliated in front of his peers, hurt Tony a lot – far more than he let on. Tim sympathized, but the fact that Gibbs had decided to stay, for whatever mysterious reason it may be, was a great relief. Gibbs, even with some memory loss, was still the glue who held them together. Tony had done his best to walk in Gibbs’ footsteps, but neither Tim nor Ziva had been able – or willing – to truly accept him as their leader. Not when there was a chance that Gibbs might return. At the time, they were just glad to have Gibbs back, and didn’t question how it might affect Tony, being treated so poorly. Ziva did her best to rub salt in Tony’s wounds, and Tim did his fair share of poking at his teammate, too. It was something he regretted, and later apologized for.

 

At first, Tim had assumed that Director Shepard had had a hand in convincing Gibbs to stay, but she let it slip, months later, that after Mexico, Gibbs hadn’t been fit to lead. “He’s his own worst enemy,” she had said.

 

Eventually, Tim came to believe that their boss had stayed in DC because his team had never given up on him, even after he’d given up on himself. He couldn’t prove it, but Gibbs had always valued family and loyalty, and even if his memory was a bit shaky at that point, his basic values hadn’t changed. In any case, it wasn’t like Gibbs had had anywhere else to go, other than back to Mexico, and who in their right mind would want to live in a shack with Mike Franks, anyway?

 

Now, seated across from Gibbs at Gallagher’s, eleven years later, Tim recalled Tony’s comment that Gibbs’ scraggly beard, unkempt hair, and red eyes made him look like a boozy pirate. Gibbs had head-slapped Tony for the remark, and, as was often the case, Tony had seemed to find pleasure in the attention. Gibbs soon shaved off his beard, leaving a snowy white mustache.

 

“Well, I, for one, liked your mustache,” Tim said, slowly stroking his goatee. “They can be sort of…prickly,” he mused, sending Gibbs an innocent look.

 

Gibbs’ gaze fell on Tim’s mustache, and one corner of his mouth twitched.

 

“I told you I liked yours at the time, remember?” Tim teased. “We were on an investigation in West Virginia…”

 

Gibbs’ cheeks grew red. “The stakeout…”

 

Yeah, he remembered, thought Tim. Stepping into dangerous territory, he prodded, “Now, what was the name of that town? Beaverdale?”

 

“Damn it, Tim,” Gibbs rebuked. A hint of a smile appeared; he rubbed his mouth as if trying to wipe it away. It didn’t work.

 

“It was good while it lasted,” Tim said with a shrug. He couldn’t help grinning though, especially when Gibbs’ smile broadened and he started to laugh. God, when was the last time he’d seen Gibbs smile, much less heard him laugh? It had been so long that Tim couldn’t even remember – long before Tony had quit and moved on, and that was a year and a half ago. Shit, where had the time gone?

 

Still smiling, Gibbs raised a hand and said, “Hey, I thought we agreed not to talk about…that.”

 

“Yeah, we agreed,” Tim said with a sigh. They had spent three long, drawn-out days and nights working on an investigation in a remote town in West Virginia. Just the two of them, with no backup. Gibbs had decided to split up the team, sending Tony and Ziva in the other direction to follow up on another lead. God, hard to believe it had happened eleven years ago.

 

Leaning forward, Tim said, with a knowing smile, “It sure was fun though,” and the way Gibbs’ clear blue eyes lit up in response made it seem like yesterday.

 

<< >> << >> << >>

 

**11 Years Ago**

**Beaverdale, WV, October, 2006**

 

It rained for the entire three days it took Gibbs and Tim to run down their suspect, and by the time they had him in cuffs, it was too late to drive all the way back to DC. Gibbs arranged to have him securely locked up at the Beaverdale police department for the night. “We’ll pick him up at 0800 tomorrow,” Gibbs told the desk sergeant.

 

The two NCIS agents dragged themselves back to their motel, where they were staying in one of the cabins situated a distance from the main building. It was a good-sized room, with decent beds and a mini fridge, and a coffee maker with a generous supply of a good brand of coffee. They were too tired to do anything more than strip to their boxers, drop their damp clothing on the floor, and fall into bed.

 

Despite being exhausted, Tim tossed and turned. The rain started up again; he could hear it pattering on the roof. The weather was supposed to be bad tomorrow, too, when they would be driving back to DC with their prisoner. Great. He hated driving in the rain. A few minutes more of restlessness, and Tim opted for a hot shower, hoping it would relax him so he get some sleep.

 

Just as he was stepping out of the shower, Gibbs entered the bathroom, apparently suffering from the same sleeplessness. Embarrassed at his nakedness, Tim grabbed a too-small towel and wrapped around his hips. “Hey, I’m not done,” he said, annoyed.

 

Gibbs mumbled something about probies hogging all the hot water, pulled off his undershirt, kicked off his shorts, and tried to push past. “Move it.”

 

Tim must have been punchy from lack of sleep, because he did the unthinkable: he pushed right back, hard enough for Gibbs to fall against the sink.

 

For a second, Gibbs looked dumbfounded, and then his eyes darkened. He grabbed Tim’s bare shoulders, and they ended up grappling. The motel bathroom was way too small for two big men to duke it out, and the ensuing fight, if you could call it that, was clumsy and stupid. Tim was about to give up when Gibbs slammed him against the wall and pinned his arms at his sides. Whether it being in such close quarters with Gibbs, or being restrained, Tim didn’t know – but he felt a sudden rush of arousal. Having his dick waving around at half-mast in front of his boss – well, it was beyond embarrassing – so he struggled, and tried a couple of moves with his legs that he’d learned from Ziva, which had little effect on Gibbs’ iron grip. Gibbs actually seemed to be enjoying his struggling, which made Tim all the more angry, so, in desperation, and without really thinking about the possible consequences, he sank his teeth into Gibbs’ shoulder.

 

Gibbs yelled, and next thing Tim knew, he was pushed onto one of the beds, and immobilized with his arm twisted behind his back. Gibbs leaned close and growled, right in his ear, “You sure you wanna fight me, McGee?”

 

Tim shook his head, which wasn’t easy with his face jammed into the mattress. “N-no… no, sir!” Shit, this took him back to the boys’ locker room in junior high, which was definitely not a place he wanted to re-visit.

 

“Then what the hell’re you up to?”

 

“You started it!” Tim shot back, feeling rebellious. Going at it with Gibbs had his adrenaline pumping, and what’s more, his dick was harder than ever and crying out for attention.

 

“You gonna bite me again?” Gibbs demanded.

 

“No. No, boss.” Tim wriggled a little and gasped in pain. “My arm…”

 

Gibbs immediately released Tim’s arm from its hold, and helped him straighten it. Tim rose to his knees and cradled his arm to his chest, trying to breathe normally. Gibbs remained kneeling beside him, close enough that Tim could feel his breath on his shoulder. It was unsettling.

 

“Talk to me,” Gibbs said abruptly. He placed a palm on Tim’s bare back, his gentle touch at odds with his gruff manner. It was totally unexpected, and made Tim feel warm all over.

 

“Talk to you?” Tim asked, breathing so fast he was afraid he was going to faint.

 

Gibbs stroked Tim’s back and waited until he had calmed down before asking, “What was all that? What’s goin’ on?”

 

Tim rolled onto his side. Gibbs looked curious and a little wary, as if he was waiting for something significant to happen. Tim eyed the bite mark on Gibbs’ shoulder, which was a dusky red and looked sore, even though it didn’t appear the skin had been broken. Feeling guilty, and unsure of exactly sure what was expected of him, Tim asked, with a small laugh, “Foreplay?”

 

“Hey!” Gibbs frowned and delivered a sharp slap to Tim’s ass.

 

If the slap had been intended as chastisement, it didn’t work. Instead, Tim was more turned on than ever, and he couldn’t help but notice that Gibbs’ dick was standing at attention. It was long and thick and every time Gibbs inhaled, it gave a little bob, like it was looking for action. “Oh…wow…” Tim licked his lips, wondering if he could ask Gibbs to fuck him, without coming across as being a total slut.

 

Gibbs smirked and indicated his dick with a one-handed gesture. “You want to…uh…?”

 

Wondering if he was going to go to hell, or get fired – which was probably worse than going to hell, Tim nodded. “Yes! I want it. Now,” he said, nodding vigorously.

 

For a second, Gibbs seemed a little taken aback, but he quickly delivered stinging slap to Tim’s other ass cheek. When Tim squealed in surprise, he asked, “You always this pushy?”

 

“Uh. I don’t think so. I mean… no, not really. I don’t…do this much,” Tim said truthfully. “I really like it, I mean sex. Not sure about getting slapped around though.”

 

Gibbs looked him over, and said thoughtfully, “Uh-huh. We’ll see. Down on your elbows.” Tim did as he was told, and Gibbs firmly pushed his head down until his forehead met the pillow.

 

Tim raised his ass high, and attempted to stifle the small, anxious sounds that kept escaping. It was no good though; he was so excited, he was whining with need.

 

Gibbs ordered, “Stay,” and went into the bathroom. He was back before Tim could think too deeply about the situation, the mattress dipped and Gibbs clasped the back of his neck. His lips touched Tim’s ear. “You still good with this?”

 

Tim nodded vigorously, his legs trembling. He was afraid that he was going to explode the moment Gibbs touched his dick. A small bottle of a cream-colored lotion and some condoms had appeared on the bedding next to him. “Where…?”

 

“Gift basket,” Gibbs said curtly. The top of the lotion was snapped open, a foil wrapper was torn, and after a slicked-up thumb was stuck up Tim’s hole and jimmied around, Gibbs got down to business. He held onto Tim’s hips while slowly penetrating him, stopping every time Tim made any sound.

 

It burned, more than Tim anticipated, but then, Gibbs wasn’t exactly small. After what felt like an eternity of ever-increasing pressure, Gibbs bottomed out with a long, low groan. He pulled back, and drove in deep, in long, slow sweeps that had Tim moaning for more. Gibbs withdrew, a burning drag, and thrust again with more force, rocking back and forth as if testing the waters, before settling into a relentless, punishing rhythm that had Tim shuddering and crying for mercy. It was unlike anything he had ever experienced before. It was so fucking intense, the pleasure so overwhelming, that when Tim finally climaxed, with back arched, and screaming Gibbs’ name, he blacked out.

 

<< >> << >> << >>


	2. Try Again

**CHAPTER 2 - Try Again**

_I'm into you,_  
_You into me,_  
_But I can't let it go_  
_So easily._   


_Not 'til I see_  
_What this could be,_  
_Be eternity  
_ _Or just a week._

~ from "Try Again" by Aaliyah

 

**11 Years Ago**

**Beaverdale, WV, October, 2006**

 

Tim woke sometime before dawn, sore as hell, and sticky with semen coating his ass and some kind of slick gumming up his thighs. The smell of sweat and sex – and vanilla hand lotion – was heavy in the air; his mouth was so dry and tasted so bad he wondered what the hell he’d been doing. He blinked a few times and his brain started to come back online. Last night. He’d taken a shower. Gibbs had come in and…they’d shoved each other around and… It all came rushing back. He’d been fucked, and fucked again. By _Gibbs_. “Oh shit.”

 

There was a soft moan, coming from between his legs. Something warm and wet was surrounding his dick, and it was indescribably delicious. Tim raised his head, and looked down. “Uh… B-boss?”

 

Gibbs raised his eyes and gave a grunt around a mouthful of dick. He went back to sucking on Tim’s cock-head, and teased the piss-slit with the tip of his tongue.

 

Tim’s response was to buck his hips and let out a high-pitched whine.

 

In no time at all, Gibbs had Tim clutching at the sheets and whimpering, “Oh God, oh God.” Gibbs held him down and went at it like he’d done this a thousand times before, sucking on Tim’s dick like a goddamn vacuum, and doing funky things with his tongue before swallowing him down partway. Gibbs choked and coughed at first, but after he took a breather, he went right back at it. He wasn’t a quitter, that much was certain.

 

Gibbs’ unshaven jaw, rough as sandpaper, scratched at Tim’s inner thighs, making his legs tremble as if it were his first time. Just when Tim thought he couldn’t take it a moment longer, and he was crying out, “I’m gonna…I’m gonna…,” Gibbs pulled off, his lips wet and shiny.

 

“Hold on,” said Gibbs, panting.

 

“What? Wait… where’re you…?”

 

Gibbs crawled off Tim and reached over to the nightstand. A moment later, he was back. He tossed a strip of condoms on the bed, a tube of Astroglide, plus several pair of exam gloves. “They have vending machines just off the lobby,” Gibbs said bluntly, pulling on one glove, and then the other, with a snap. “The gloves are government issue.”

 

Tim stared at him, open-mouthed, and asked with trepidation, “What… what’re the gloves for?”

 

With a smirk, Gibbs said plainly, “Gonna stick my fingers inside you. Going deep.”

 

“Okaaaay,” Tim said, wondering what he’d got himself into. Gibbs’ skin was ruddy, from his chest all the way up to his cheeks, and his dark eyes had a gleam to them that Tim had never seen before. Gibbs’ dick, thick and erect, was bumping against his thigh. Fascinated, Tim took hold of it and stroked it gently, rubbing the blunt end of his thumb over the head on every upstroke.

 

Gibbs’ eyes closed and he swallowed hard, as if it was too much. After a couple of deep breaths, he opened his eyes and took hold of Tim’s hand, stilling it. He warned, “You keep that up and I won’t be able to fuck you. Just… hold me.”

 

Tim’s heart sped up in anticipation. He kept his hand where it was, simply holding the hot, velvety flesh in his sweaty palm. “Is this okay?”

 

After a second, the older man said, “Tighter.” When Tim increased the pressure, Gibbs grunted. “Yeah. Like that.”

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

Gibbs slicked up two of his gloved fingers with a generous dollop of lube, and plunged them into Tim’s sensitive asshole. Tim jerked at the intrusion, and Gibbs ordered, “Don’t clench.” He thrust his slick latex-encased fingers in and out of Tim’s anus, while holding onto Tim’s dick in a chokehold that had Tim squirming. He didn’t waste much time before curling his fingers deep inside Tim, making him buck and moan.

 

“Oh, yeah, there…that’s good…oh fuck!” Tim held onto Gibbs’ dick, tried not to squeeze any tighter, but it was impossible to concentrate while being finger-fucked by his boss.

 

Gibbs smiled, and not too nicely, while he added a third finger and twisted them around until Tim’s hips came off the bed. Tim grabbed at him wildly, screaming obscenities as Gibbs pressed and rubbed deep inside him. Without removing his fingers, Gibbs angled his body so he could lick the tip of Tim’s leaking dick. He took its rigid length into his mouth and hummed, “Mmmm.” Tim arched into him, jerking his hips, too far gone to care that he was choking Gibbs with his deep thrusts, or that he’d lost hold of his dick.

 

Gibbs slung his arm across Tim’s hips and held him down firmly while his warm mouth engulfed Tim’s dick, and his tongue swirled around the shaft. Gibbs’ bristling mustache ticked him, making him squirm. Any of these moves could have been enough to send Tim over the edge, but it was Gibbs’ fingers, four of them now, stretching him impossibly wide, and prodding with blunt fingers at his prostate, that made Tim come with a drawn-out shudder.

 

Gibbs came up for air, wiping his wet chin with the back of his hand. Changing his position, he hauled Tim’s legs up and over his shoulders before Tim’s brain even registered what was going on.

 

“Again?” Tim moaned, pushing at Gibbs’ chest. “I can’t… I can’t.”

 

“Last time,” Gibbs said, not quite making it a request.

 

“Oh…all right, but don’t touch my dick. No more…” Tim couldn’t finish what he was saying, he was so dazed and spent. His dick had taken a beating and was swollen. He just couldn’t take any more.

 

Gibbs shrugged. “No problem.” He grabbed Tim’s hips and mounted him, sliding right in, aided by a dollop of fresh lube. It only took a few thrusts before he stiffened and came with a strangled cry. He pulled out slowly, and dropped on top of Tim, breathing hard. Tim felt wrung out, but it was a good kind of exhaustion. Gibbs groaned like an old man, and rolled to the other side of the bed to dispose of the condom and exam gloves.

 

Drained, aching, and amazed at the night’s activities, Tim smiled to himself. It was good, yeah. He’d like more of it. Not now, but soon. He wondered idly if Gibbs would be interested in being his fuck-buddy for a while. Eventually, he recovered enough to wonder what time it was, and why Gibbs was so far away. Turning his head on the pillow, Tim saw that Gibbs was awake, and staring at the ceiling. Tim whispered, “Hey, you okay?” He waited for Gibbs to say something, to maybe let him know what was going on with him. He knew he was expecting a lot, because this was Gibbs – but they’d just had an all-nighter of sex, and letting your partner – fuck-buddy – know how you were doing was simply good etiquette.

 

Gibbs sighed and sat up with a grunt. “Gotta hit the head.” He stumbled into the bathroom and closed the door firmly.

 

Tim was starting to wonder if this was all there was, and was about to shout, “Hey, is that it?” when the toilet flushed, water ran, and Gibbs emerged. He stood there, naked, rubbing the back of his head like an embarrassed teenager. He looked pretty damn good for a guy of his age, even if his chest and pubic hair were gray. Gibbs had to be approaching fifty soon; Tim knew he was about twenty years older than he was.

 

For some reason, Gibbs’ stance made Tim picture Tony, looking awkward and a bit sheepish after sleeping with a girl he’d picked up that night, eying the door while contemplating making a run for it. For a second, Tim was positive Gibbs was going to grab his things and bolt. Wouldn’t get very far though. They’d arrived in the same car, and had a long ride back to DC ahead of them – with a prisoner handcuffed in the back.

 

Tim pushed the sheet and blanket aside in invitation. “Come get some sleep,” he said mildly.

 

Gibbs moved closer to the bed, looking so serious that Tim expected to be on the receiving end of a lecture about how co-workers must never get involved with each other. Or how they’d broken one of the rules, or maybe even a new rule that he’d made up specially to suit the occasion. Emboldened, Tim asked, “Rule number ninety-nine: No fucking once the sun has risen?”

 

Gibbs gave an odd sort of snort, and smoothly slipped back into bed with a smile, and even though the motel room was gloomy and dimly lit, Tim felt as though it had brightened up a bit. Gibbs reached over, without a word, and gathered Tim to his chest, and kissed his forehead, and just lay there, holding him. When Tim started to speak, Gibbs hushed him and hugged him tighter.

 

Tim was enjoying the hell out of being hugged by Gibbs, but just the same, he didn’t know what to make of it. The sex had been toe-curling good, and intimate in a weird kind of way, considering they hadn’t even kissed – not once, unless you counted a quick peck to his forehead – and no, he didn’t count that. Tim wondered why Gibbs avoided kissing, but before he could work through the ramifications, Gibbs curled into him with what sounded an awful lot like a happy sigh. Tim sighed in response, and stroked Gibbs’ broad back, enjoying what he had, while it lasted.

 

Next to kissing, cuddling was his favorite after-sex thing to do. He’d like to think that they’d progress to making out, because he had a feeling that Gibbs was a damned good kisser, probably possessive, with lots of tongue action. But, although he was generally hopeful, Tim wasn’t delusional. After all, this was _Gibbs_ he was in bed with, Gibbs, his superior, and a good twenty years older than him. It was just a fling, a one-night affair with nowhere to go. They had their real lives to get back to, a prisoner to escort back to DC, and colleagues to face.

 

Oh God, he had to _face_ them. Like later today. How could he look at Ziva, and _Tony_ , and not let it show on his face that he’d been fucked senseless by the boss? That he’d sucked Gibbs’ dick… And Abby – he’d never be able to keep it from her! Tim’s heart sank. Once Abby knew, then everyone would soon hear about it. Rumors spread like wildfire within law enforcement, and his friends and colleagues would ridicule him, talk about him being gay behind his back, probably even refuse to go out into the field with him any more. He was going to have to leave NCIS, go into the private sector, and he’d never see his friends again, even though once they found out they wouldn’t be his friends any more and…

 

“Hey!” Gibbs had raised his head and was frowning at him.

 

Tim stared right back, too consumed by worry to care. “I’m _thinking_.”

 

With an exasperated sigh, Gibbs said, “Don’t.” He moved away, and put one arm under his head.

 

“We can’t just ignore it! They’ll figure it out, you know. Or I’ll let it slip, or one of us’ll look at the other funny, and Tony will pick up on it and… My life is about to be upended, and I can’t at least discuss it with the guy who fucked my brains out, all night long?”

 

“So work harder at keeping it to yourself,” Gibbs said, as if it were an easy thing to do. “We don’t talk about it. They won’t find out. That’s the end of it.” After a moment, Gibbs asked, with a grin, “So, I fucked your brains out?”

 

Tim snorted. “And more. How’m I going to act natural if I can’t sit down for a week?” Figuring he may as well ask Gibbs questions while he had the chance, Tim propped himself up on one elbow. “You ever blow a guy before?”

 

Gibbs squinted at Tim. “Why? I’m not up to your usual standards?”

 

Tim wished Gibbs was still sprawled over him, holding him. The weight of the man, his body heat, had felt really good, and the way he’d held him, it was as if what they’d done had really meant something. But Tim didn’t want to seem clingy, and he definitely didn’t want to get shot down for saying something mushy, so instead of asking for another hug, he said, “You were really good. Probably the best I’ve ever had.” Tim felt his face getting hotter by the second. “And, you know, it’s okay if you haven’t done it before.”

 

Gibbs picked at the edge of the sheet that barely covered him up to the waist, and gave a small shrug.

 

“You can’t remember?” Tim asked cautiously.

 

Gibbs squirmed, and Tim didn’t think he’d ever seen the man so uncomfortable. “Dunno. I don’t think I have.”

 

Even though there had been nothing wrong with Gibbs’ performance in the sack – far from it – Tim was pretty sure he hadn’t ever sucked dick, much less slept with a man before. It wasn’t something you easily forgot.

 

Tim shifted in the bed, trying to get comfortable, but moving around made his asshole burn, so he stopped. “You’re good at…all of it. Especially the fucking. I’ve never been fucked like that before, like hard.”

 

Gibbs smiled fleetingly at the praise, before asking, “Did I hurt you?”

 

“Not really. I’ll be okay,” Tim quickly replied.

 

“You want me to…check it out for you?” Somehow Gibbs managed to say that without acting too grossed out, but then, he’d certainly handled his share of gross things while on the job, as they all had.

 

Tim met Gibbs’ eyes and held his gaze. “I’m good. Really.”

 

“I used a condom,” Gibbs said helpfully.

 

“Yeah. That’s good.” Tim hadn’t been sure about their first time. “There… where I bit you…you need something on it?”

 

“Nah, I’m good,” said Gibbs, evidently having forgotten about Tim biting his shoulder.

 

After a pause, Tim asked, “You want to…uh…fool around some more?”

 

Gibbs picked his watch up off the nightstand. “Got a little time. If you want.”

 

Gibbs’ dick was already at half-mast, tenting the sheet he had over his lower half. Tim reached under the sheet and stroked Gibbs’ dick, and felt it thicken. He smiled invitingly. “Oh yeah, I want.”

 

“I’m not sure we should…get all worked up,” said Gibbs, licking his lips.

 

Tim laughed, releasing his hold on Gibbs’ dick, and stroked his own erection. “Too late. I think we already are.” He moved closer to Gibbs, tangling their legs so he couldn’t escape, and ran a hand over his chest and shoulder. For an older guy, Gibbs had a good body, heavier in the shoulders, broader in the chest than was obvious when he was wearing one of his loose Sears sports jackets.

 

“Look, once we’re back there, in DC…it goes without saying…” Gibbs started.

 

Finishing up for him, Tim said, “…that this never happened.”

 

Looking slightly downcast, Gibbs nodded.

 

“Boss… I mean, Gibbs… I’ve gotta ask. What made you… um…”

 

With a mild snort, Gibbs asked, “What made me jump you?”

 

Now embarrassed for bringing it up, Tim started to turn away, but Gibbs caught his arm. He hesitated, looking for the right words. “I’ve, um, been off my game recently. Ever since… Mexico. I don’t _remember_ , but I’m pretty sure I never thought about doing it with you before. I didn’t plan this.”

 

“Me, either. It never entered my mind that we could ever… _would_ ever have sex. I mean, you’re my boss. You’re a really attractive guy, and…everything, but…”

 

Gibbs nodded and looked at Tim thoughtfully. “I’m not your boss now, Tim. Not until 0730, when we have to get up and on the road.”

 

“So, we’re not done?”

 

Gibbs smiled. “We’ve got another hour and a half. Should put it to good use, don’t you think?”

 

Grinning, Tim agreed, “Don’t waste good.”

 

What happened next was out of character for Tim, but on that dull, rainy morning, with a naked Gibbs lying right next to him in the bed, and a window of an hour and a half, reason went right out the window. He didn’t think of the ramifications – he just slid down under the covers, took Gibbs’ dick in his mouth, and went to work. While he played with Gibbs’ balls, rolling and tugging at them, he dragged his tongue along the rigid shaft, teasing moans out of the older man. Tim wrapped his lips around his dick, taking in as much as he could, increasing the suction and tongue action until Gibbs jerked his hips and moaned loudly. Hearing the sexy, needy noises, and moans coming from deep in his boss’s throat, rough and raw, got Tim off like nothing else had.

 

Tim had been sucking dick since he was a teen, and he was pretty good at it. He had only been fucked a couple of times though, plus the three – or was it four – times last night with Gibbs. Penetration required a lot of trust, far more than he was willing to give to any of his one-night stands. Gibbs, he trusted, he realized, even if it had been of the unspoken variety.

 

All his life, Tim had hidden his sexual preferences from everyone. He never got involved with any of the local boys when in high school; he even went so far as to date girls when he was in college. He’d been fascinated by Abby when he first started working at the Navy Yard, and she’d initiated the sex. They’d gotten along really well, in bed and out. Abby was a fun sex partner, though she was a bit weird for his taste, like wanting him to treat her like a baby while she sucked on an oversized pacifier – while in her coffin. When they broke up, Tim assured Abby that it wasn’t _her_ , it was just that he got the willies going at it in a coffin. He didn’t mention he found the infantilism just as disturbing. Surprisingly, she was fine with it, saying that their working relationship had to take precedence. Tim had a feeling she was already bored with him and just being polite.

 

If someone asked, Tim could honestly say that he liked women. It was just that…he liked men _more_. Nobody asked though, thank goodness. Tim told himself that he wasn’t ashamed of being gay; it was just that he was cautious and didn’t want to end up getting hurt. That probably wasn’t entirely truthful, but it was close enough.

 

Always hanging over his head was the thought that his parents would be deeply disappointed in him if they knew he was gay. His mom would insist that she loved him anyway, but he wasn’t so sure about his strict father. The admiral would be disappointed, at the very least, and might even reject him outright. That would be really tough to deal with. But, if he was very careful, his dad would never have a clue his son liked men. Tim had a feeling that his sister, Sarah, might suspect he played both sides of the fence, but she never said a word, never held it over him or anything, for which he was more than grateful.

 

But here he was, having sex with the boss. It was a lot less awkward than it could have been, maybe because they were already familiar with each other. Tim figured that their defenses had been lowered by fatigue, and the tension in the close quarters of the bathroom had sparked something neither one of them would ever explore under normal circumstances. Plus, they were far away from anyone who knew them, and… Hell, it didn’t matter what the reason was – they were sexually attracted to each other, and they’d acted upon it. It had been exciting and he was up for more, as was Gibbs.

 

Gibbs didn’t make small talk during sex, not even dirty talk, because, obviously, he wasn’t a talker. He was more of a ‘here’s my dick, let’s put it to good use’ kind of guy, and Tim was good with that. He flicked at the head of Gibbs’ dick with his tongue, licked up and down its length and hummed, playing it like a harmonica. And then he let the heavy length of it just sit on his tongue, sucking gently while he ran his palms up his sides to his chest, and tweaked his brown nipples until he squirmed.

 

Tim ground his leaking dick against Gibbs’ leg, while heating things up a notch by putting everything he had into the blowjob. It wasn’t long before Gibbs was sweating, and panting through clenched teeth. He was flushed a beautiful shade of pink from his cheeks to his chest, and giving little jerks of his hips, fucking Tim’s mouth. Tim didn’t mind. He enjoyed being used, he realized, as he twisted Gibbs’ balls and swallowed his dick at the same time.

 

That was when Gibbs, the man who had barely spoken a handful of words since they’d entered the room, found his voice. “Fuck! Fuck! Goddamn it, fuck! I’m coming, I’m, oh Jesus! I need… I need, yeah, suck harder, yeah… oh fuck…”

 

Tim pulled out all the stops, humming around the length of Gibbs’ dick, working up to the grand finale. Gibbs’ eyelids fluttered closed as he lost himself in the sensation. His lips parted slackly as he let out a deep, drawn-out moan, and ejaculated hot streams of come down Tim’s throat; it was one of the hottest things Tim had ever witnessed. This was _Gibbs_ he was getting off, he thought incredulously. This was his boss, the gun-toting special agent who made strong men quiver and quake by merely shooting a glare their way. But now it was Gibbs who was quivering under his hands, and it was amazing. Tim released Gibbs’ spent dick and laid his head on his muscular thigh, panting, while Gibbs breathed hard and stroked his hair.

 

Tim woke to the sound of his watch beeping. He was draped across Gibbs’ body and drooling on his chest. “Time,” he said, pushing himself off with a grunt.

 

Gibbs sighed deeply and said with an air of finality, “Yup. We’re done here.”

 

<< >> << >> << >>

 

 


	3. Torture Me

**CHAPTER 3 – Torture Me**

_Get the rope, tie me to the bedpost,_ _  
__Because I can't find within myself the happy host._ _  
__If I find my piece of mind, torture me._ _  
__If I seem too serene, torture me._  
~ from “Torture Me” by Metric

 

**11 Years Ago**

**Washington, DC, October, 2006**

 

The minute they left the motel room and got in the company car, it was business as usual. They picked up their prisoner and drove back to DC, and by afternoon, they were finalizing their reports. Tony and Ziva had gathered additional evidence that was instrumental in getting the man’s confession, and they all got to go home before dinnertime, so everyone was happy. Except for Gibbs, who had been acting like his usual abrupt self, snapping at his agents when they got off track, and barking orders, ever since he had stepped off the elevator.

 

Tim was somehow able to conduct normal conversations with his colleagues. When he thought about it, he’d had just as much practice undercover as, say, Tony. After all, he’d been covering up his attraction for men, and hiding his brief encounters with strangers for all his adult years. The Timothy McGee his closest friends and colleagues saw, the shy guy who kept ending up with the wrong girlfriends, who wasn’t all that self-assured, and was maybe a bit too naive at times… okay, that _was_ him… it just wasn’t _all_ of him. He wondered if this was what it was like with Tony; all that noise and distraction he worked so hard at, at work, was only a fraction of the entire man. Not everyone saw through him, but Tim did. So did Abby and Gibbs. Ducky, too.

 

Tony was busy bragging about how he’d been the one to tie together some vague tendrils of clues and had come up with a substantial piece of evidence. Ziva was rolling her eyes and injecting mild insults, doing her best to shoot him down. Gibbs soon got fed up and threatened to staple them to their chairs until they got the paperwork finished.

 

Tim couldn’t have been more grateful for the normality of it all. He’d been nervous he would let something slip, afraid that the moment he met Gibbs’ eyes, his dick would automatically stand at attention. Worrying, it turned out, was not necessary. The minute they walked into the NCIS building, they left that night of sex behind, and by the time the team had wrapped up the case and were saying goodnight to each other – with Tony and Ziva bickering all the way to the elevator – his night of crazy-hot-motel-sex with Gibbs was almost like a hazy memory of long ago. Almost.

 

<< >> << >> << >>

 

A couple of nights later, there was a knock at Tim’s door. He opened it to find Gibbs standing there. In one hand he had a bag of Chinese take-out, a six-pack in the other.

 

“Um… Is this…about work?” Tim asked, looking at the food and wondering if he’d missed something.

 

“Nope.” Gibbs rolled his eyes and stood there looking expectant.

 

Tim narrowed his eyes. This was too weird; Gibbs never brought food over. Trying not to sound too suspicious, he asked, “You want something?”

 

“Yeah, to come in. McGee.” The second Tim stepped back to allow him in, Gibbs shouldered his way past, and made his way to the small kitchen. Gibbs dumped the food and beer on the counter and turned to Tim. “Been thinking.”

 

“Okay… About..?”

 

Gibbs shifted his weight from foot to foot. He cleared his throat. “I remembered some stuff.”

 

Tim waited, half afraid to find out exactly what it was that Gibbs had remembered.

 

Gibbs’ cheeks turned a deep red. “I’ve never done it with a guy before.”

 

“Okay,” Tim said, nonplussed at what appeared to be a confession. He didn’t let Gibbs know he’d figured as much. “You remember anything else?”

 

Gibbs frowned and said slowly, “Yeah.”

 

Silence extended to the point it was growing uncomfortable, so Tim coaxed, “You want to share?”

 

Looking like he was in pain, Gibbs said, “I’ve thought about it before, you know, being with a guy.” Then quickly added, “But not just any guy.”

 

“Someone you like?” Now this was interesting, finding out who Gibbs had the hots for.

 

All of a sudden, Gibbs said impatiently, “It doesn’t matter. Look, you want to do this or not, McGee?”

 

Jeez, Gibbs couldn’t even admit he fantasized about Tony. If there were flames, perhaps, with a little fanning, they’d break into a full-out conflagration, Tim mused. He wasn’t put out by Gibbs yearning for Tony, not at all. Those two belonged together, and the sooner they got it through their thick heads… He realized Gibbs was talking to him. “I’m sorry… do what, Boss?”

 

“You know. Fuck,” Gibbs said, even more impatiently.

 

Tim closed his mouth, which was hanging open. He nodded, because, yes, he wanted to, even though it was not a good idea. They’d cut ties, had agreed it was over. Or, at least _he_ had. “You sure? I mean, I thought we weren’t going to. . . like ever again.”

 

“Probably not the smartest thing to do, but what the hell, McGee. Look,” Gibbs said, standing close to Tim. He spoke as if it were difficult to get the words out. “I… I really needed…what we had…and you were…” He took a breath and said, “It meant… You helped me. I needed to get my head on straight. Needed some release, you know? So… it was good.”

 

“I’m glad I could help,” Tim said, feeling like he was in the Twilight Zone. His face heated up. “I…uh…I needed it, too.”

 

“So, food first, and then we can get down to business,” Gibbs said with a curt nod, as if they were negotiating the price on a used car.

 

They each had one beer, but barely touched the food. Tim had butterflies in his stomach, and every time he looked up, Gibbs was eyeing him like he was planning his next move. The second Tim pushed his plate away, Gibbs was up and propelling him into the bedroom. They didn’t speak much, just removed their clothing. Gibbs was naked first; he was unnaturally quick at stripping, Tim had noticed. Then they were on the bed, and just as Tim was about to ask how he wanted to do this, Gibbs instructed him to grab the headboard with both hands. “Get a good grip. You’re gonna need it.”

 

Gibbs went home around dawn, leaving Tim sprawled wantonly on his messed-up bed, laughing at the insanity of it all. He wondered how long this was going to continue, and if he was going to survive an affair with the boss.

 

<< >> << >> << >>

 

Within days, Abby asked Tim if he was seeing someone. He denied it immediately, putting everything he had into acting sincere, but Abby kept sneaking looks at him that said she suspected he was lying. Being discovered, and outed, scared the shit out of Tim. Whenever he drove to Gibbs’, he took such a circuitous route it added half an hour to his drive-time. He made sure to remove the batteries from anything that could be tracked. He even disabled the GPS in his car. In Gibbs’, too, just in case. It was a pain to get everything hooked up again when they were finished, but it couldn’t take the chance that Abby would be nosy and track him.

 

Having regular sex with Gibbs made Tim feel good. He felt wanted and sated and, quite honestly, special. This meant he was in a perpetually good mood, and of course his colleagues noticed it. Tony and Ziva, quite accurately, decided that his good mood was due to getting laid. Tim held out for a while, but when their poking and teasing became too much, he relented. He acknowledged they were correct, and said vague things about a girl he’d met online, and wanting to keep it quiet for now.

 

Tony made fun of him due to his less than stellar track record with women, and spent way too much time trying to guess the screen name of the woman he believed Tim was cyber-dating. “CyberChick? LipSmacker, GeekyGirl, Li*lCutie, TechnoNutty? IWannaBeBad? C’mon, what’s her name, McShyness?”

 

“I don’t want to jinx it,” Tim insisted.

 

Tony seemed to be trying too hard at proving something these days, his annoying quotient sky high. He’d been like that lately, ever since Gibbs had come back from Mexico. It was as if Tony was trying to convince everyone that he wasn’t fit for the leadership role. It had the opposite effect on Tim, who now wondered what else he was covering up. Maybe _he_ had a girlfriend and a secret life outside of work. Tony did, after all, carry two cell phones, one of them a burn phone, according to Abby.

 

Surprisingly, Abby stuck up for Tim. She said sweetly, “C’mon, Tony, you know what it’s like when you’re in the first blush of love, how fragile and special it is. Oh, no, I guess you _don’t_.” Her voice deepened in warning. “So just lay off Timmy, or else.”

 

Ziva watched Tim speculatively, and tried to get information out of him with trick questions, but she soon got bored. From then on, she paid little attention to what he did outside work.

 

Tim felt a guilty about lying to everyone, but he never felt any pangs of remorse about having sex with Gibbs. It was consensual, and fun, and really hot, and Gibbs was just this side of being too rough, which Tim had discovered turned him on like nothing else. Adversely, Gibbs was considerate, in his own way, making sure that Tim was okay with everything they were doing. It made Tim feel secure, being with a man who wasn’t going to chat about their private business around the water cooler.

 

<< >> << >> << >>

 

Tim felt more and more guilty as the days progressed. It wasn’t just that he was sneaking around and having a fling with the boss, or that he was lying to his friends, but because he knew, deep down, that it shouldn’t be _him_ who was having sex with Gibbs. It should have been Tony, and he’d wondered, more than once, if it had been Tony who had accompanied Gibbs to Beaverdale, they would have been having a hot time of it, and not him and Gibbs.

 

Tim had known, practically from the first time he’d seen Tony and Gibbs together, that Tony was crazy about the boss. It wasn’t overt in any way, but the longer Tim worked with the two of them, the more he understood how Tony truly felt about Gibbs. Sure, Tony was loyal to the boss, and Gibbs relied on him, and they’d worked together for years, but it was more than that. A lot more.

 

In fact, Tim was positive that it was love, the ‘two hearts beating as one, a couple of timeless souls who were meant for each other’ kind of love. Okay, he was a romantic, so what? Just observing the way Tony looked at Gibbs, how he walked in step with him as if they were one, the way Tony knew what Gibbs was going to say before he said it, it was obvious – hell, they were like an old married couple. No, he had no doubt about their feelings for each other, their apparently deeply _suppressed_ feelings, from the looks of things.

 

Gibbs was close with whatever was going on in his heart, but just the same, Tim had no doubt that he cared for Tony just as much as Tony cared for him. Maybe even more so. And how did he know this? Because last spring, before the whole Mexico thing, he had been witness to Gibbs laughing at something Tony had said. Now, that might not seem like a substantial piece of evidence, but in all his years at NCIS, that was the _only_ time Tim had seen Gibbs laugh. Gibbs might smile and smirk, and occasionally one corner of his mouth would twitch as if he was having a battle with himself over whether or not to let a smile escape. But he never really laughed. Not like that, he didn’t.

 

<< >> << >> << >>

 

It was the end of the day; the sun was about to set, shadows getting longer. Tim was in an alley at the scene of a murder, picking up the evidence bags, and making sure he hadn’t left any equipment behind. He heard a sound that made him stop and look towards the street.

 

Out on the pavement, he could see Gibbs with Tony, backlit by the setting sun. Their silhouetted figures undulated a little, like a mirage in the desert. They were talking, or Tony was, and standing close enough that their figures merged and became one. Gibbs said something sharp, but Tony didn’t even flinch. Tony replied, and even though Tim couldn’t catch the words, he could tell his colleague was making an attempt at humor by his loose-limbed movement.

 

Humor didn’t go over well with Gibbs, especially at a crime scene, so Tim waited, fascinated, for the inevitable rebuke and head slap. Instead, to his surprise, Gibbs’ head went back in laughter. He actually _laughed_ , a loud and hearty laugh, the rich sound emanating from deep inside him. Tony was laughing, and he slung his arm around Gibbs’ shoulder with astonishing familiarity, and for a brief moment, the two men grinned at each other.

 

Frozen in place, Tim watched, sensing that this was something extraordinary. And then, like a spell being broken, they moved apart, slowly, as if they were reluctant, and walked together towards the car.

 

Tim gathered his gear and trailed along, a good distance behind, puzzling over what he’d witnessed.

 

Without stopping, Tony glanced over his shoulder at Tim, and then made a comment to Gibbs about probies. Tim wasn’t really listening because he was taken in by the way Tony was grinning and energized, vibrating with joy. Gibbs delivered a slap across the back of Tony’s head, making the younger man laugh, even as he touched the back of his head where he’d been struck. Gibbs ordered Tony to do something in a low, growl of a voice. “On it, Boss,” came the brisk reply. Tony strode ahead, oblivious to the way Gibbs was watching him.

 

But Tim saw it all. How could that scene not be interpreted as being interplay between two men who felt deeply for each other? How could that have _not_ been love?

 

<< >> << >> << >>

 

They were lying in bed, Tim in his comfortable place, leaning against Gibbs’ side, while Gibbs slid his rough palm across Tim’s bare skin in long, soft strokes.

 

“You care for him, I know,” Tim said. Gibbs didn’t reply, but Tim knew he was listening. “I know you care about me, too, even if you don’t say it.”

 

“Tim…”

 

“It’s okay. I’m good with what we’ve got, but…Gibbs…?” Tim turned his head so he could see Gibbs’ expression. “Why aren’t you doing this with Tony?” That startled Gibbs, as if he’d never thought about Tony in the same way he considered Tim. “Look, I know you have feelings for him… more than anything that’s between us.” Gibbs started to move away, but Tim held onto him. “You’ve gotta talk about this. Why aren’t you with _him_?”

 

It was a while before Gibbs responded, and then it was with a sigh. “I can’t.” It went unsaid that he shouldn’t, any more than he should be in bed right now with Tim.

 

“Why not?” Tim persisted.

 

Gibbs shook his head and remained mute.

 

After a minute, Tim said, “You think he’ll reject you. I don’t think he will. You might have to work for it though. You know Tony, he’ll need some romance. Lots of attention. He has to see evidence that you mean it, that you’ll stick with him. You’ll need to love him. Like _really_ love him.”

 

Gibbs blinked a few times. “Where’s this coming from?”

 

“I know him. And I know _you_ …pretty well by now,” Tim said with a smirk. “Seriously, you’re crazy not to let him know how you feel about him. Why can’t you do that?”

 

Gibbs gave a little shrug but his flat expression gave no hint of what he was thinking. “I’m not talking about this.”

 

Knowing he’d struck a nerve, despite Gibbs’ stony face, Tim said gently, “You need to try, for his sake as well as yours.”

 

“I don’t know… if I can do that.”

 

“Just… try,” Tim said. He had to be satisfied with the slight nod Gibbs gave him. He kissed Gibbs’ cheek and settled down with a deep sigh, soon after falling asleep.

 

 

<< >> << >> << >>

 

 

**Present day, Washington, DC, October, 2017**

 

Gibbs once joked that if a man and woman were talking to each other, they couldn’t possibly be married. The sad thing was, that’s exactly how it ended up between Gibbs and Tony, who had once been so close, were now barely talking. They acted like they were a married couple who’d come to despise each other, and even though their anger was tearing them apart, they couldn’t bring themselves to actually split up.

 

For years, Tony and Gibbs had spent most of their waking moments in each other’s pockets. They’d worked, eaten and slept together – in close proximity, anyway – and had dealt with every emotion, good and bad, that you could name. As partners, they had run the gamut, from being supportive to critical, from loyal to stupidly selfish. Over the years the two agents had become close in a way that was common among law enforcement partners, and had relied upon each other to deal with some of the worst possible situations.

 

They’d had their fair share of highs and lows, but somewhere along the line, after Gibbs got shot by that kid, the lows became the norm. It was like he got stuck in a hole, and the more he clawed to get out, the deeper he sank; soon it became hopeless. Gibbs spoke down to Tony, and at some point stopped talking to him altogether. He quit partnering with him, didn’t ask him over for cowboy steaks or to talk over a hard case any more – just abandoned dealing with him altogether. Every time Tony tried to ask if he’d done something wrong, Gibbs pushed him away all the harder, showing exactly how much of a bastard he could be.

 

Gibbs never offered Tony any explanation, never gave him any reason for his behavior. It drove a wedge between them, causing so much damage, inflicting wounds so deep, that Tim was afraid Gibbs’ relationship with his right-hand man had sunk beyond the point of repair.

 

<< >> << >> << >>

 

 


	4. Master and Servant

**CHAPTER 4 - Master and Servant**

_It's a lot like life_  
_This play between the sheets,_  
 _With you on top and me underneath._  
 _Forget all about equality,_  
 _Let's play master and servant,_  
 _Let's play master and servant._

~ from “Master and Servant” by Depeche Mode

**11 Years Ago**

**Washington, DC, November, 2006**

 

Sometimes, when they were together, Gibbs acted nice. It was weird because nice Gibbs was not normal Gibbs, as Tony had pronounced on that rainy night, right after Kate had been killed. Gibbs showed he was capable of doing nice things, like the time he cooked a meal and hand-fed Tim while he was tied to a chair, or when he applied salve oh-so-gently to the back of Tim’s thighs after he’d caned him raw. Unfortunately, Gibbs simply couldn’t sustain being nice for very long. When the niceness drained away, he’d arrive at Tim’s apartment with a dark look in his eyes, along with a spider-gag and a pair of well-worn leather cuffs. Then he was just about as far from being nice-Gibbs as was possible. That was okay with Tim though. He liked it rough, liked being tied down and fucked, liked Gibbs taking his latent anger out on him. At the time, Tim didn’t think too much about what his easy submission meant about himself or their relationship. All he knew was that not-nice Gibbs meant great sex, with really intense highs that left him drained and hurting, and smiling blissfully at the ceiling.

 

Even though Tim liked Gibbs, to the point of having developed some warm and fuzzy feelings about him, at the end of the day, there was no getting away from the fact that Gibbs was his boss. Every day they had to work together under the watchful eyes of their fellow agents, which meant they had to turn into different people the minute they walked into the building. They had to watch the way they treated each other, the way they reacted, and spoke, and smiled. Tim had to act normally, no matter how harshly he’d been spanked the night before, or if he had been forced to wear a butt plug to work. At first it was fun, like a game or a contest, but as the days turned into weeks, and they spent so much time together outside the office, most of it horizontal, Tim found it increasingly difficult to keep up the charade.

 

It was also starting to bother him that they always fucked, and never made love. What they had was purely physical, and Tim got that. He’d understood, from day one, what he was getting into. It was all about the sex, pushing the boundaries, Gibbs always trying out new things. There was little-to-no warm-up, either, going from zero to sixty once they were in the bedroom. It was disappointing that they had never kissed. Some men were like that, though, not wanting to kiss the same mouth that had been sucking on their dick a minute ago. Tim wondered if this was how Gibbs had treated his ex-wives, turning on and off his intense sexuality with an ease that he found a bit disturbing.

 

While it was exciting to be thrown on the bed bodily and have your clothing torn off, there had to something more than gruff impatience and ‘get your ass in the air right now, or I ain’t using any lube.’ He wanted a little tenderness, some kissing and petting, and had even braved suggesting as much, but either it was not in Gibbs’ nature to slow down and enjoy lovemaking, or he had forgotten how to do so. Considering how spotty his memory was, and how all this sex seemed to be coming from a pretty base place, Tim considered it a strong possibility.

 

Tim thought long and hard about ending it, and came to the conclusion that breaking up was the right thing to do. One day they’d get sloppy and get caught, and then they’d be punished in some very unpleasant way. Getting sent down to the cyber-basement would mean the end of being a field agent, and now he’d had a taste of being out in the field, there was no way he could be a tech-mole again. Of course, it was entirely possible that if their affair were discovered, it would be the end of his career. Gibbs’ too. Tim had reoccurring nightmares about being transferred to some remote post with sub-zero temperatures and poor internet reception.

 

Of course, the evening he decided to tell Gibbs it was over, Gibbs turned up at his door with a bottle of bourbon, a large bunch of unripe bananas and a flogger, along with a predatory gleam in his eye. Tim’s resolve went straight out the window.

 

<< >> << >> << >>

 

Over the course of the time they slept with each other, Gibbs slowly regained pieces of his memory, and as the holes became filled in, his old self returned. He shaved off his mustache in the middle of the night, almost defiantly, as if he was saying good riddance to his time in Mexico. He seemed more himself after that; more grounded, was the only way Tim could explain it. The downside was that Gibbs didn’t seem to need him much any more.

 

Soon it became evident that Gibbs was distancing himself, becoming the man he used to be when Tim first knew him, strong and stern, and ultimately a loner. Tim was happy for Gibbs, because not remembering who you were, or how to deal with the people who were supposed to be your friends and colleagues, sucked. As their nightly bouts of sex became every-other-night bouts of sex, and then even less frequent, Tim grew lonely. He missed spending private time with his lover, and was afraid he was going to lose the tenuous connection they’d developed.

 

In the end, it lasted almost three months, their ‘fucking every night of the week and keeping it a big secret’ affair. Gibbs refused to call it a relationship, and he was right. It didn’t qualify as that. It was a different type of involvement, a physical coming together of two guys who knew how to get each other off. Fuck-buddies didn’t half cover it, but Tim didn’t know what else to call it.

 

The turning point came the day Tim’s sister, Sarah, found herself suspected of murder. Tim’s priorities immediately changed. He even told Director Shepard that he’d never put the integrity of NCIS before a family member. Gibbs sided with him, agreeing that family came first, and they had a case to solve. Tim’s team rallied around and put their heads together to clear Sarah.

 

By the time they were on to their next case, Gibbs had pretty much stopped coming around. When Tim went over to check on him one night, he discovered that Gibbs had started building a new boat to replace the one he’d reduced to kindling after Mexico. In no time at all, they got into what Tim referred to as a ‘take no prisoners’ bout of sex. Tim wrenched his shoulder as a result of being crucified on the ribs of Gibbs’ boat hull, and Gibbs had a hickey the size of a plum so high on his neck, he had to wear a dress shirt and tie for the next several days.

 

They ended it the next morning, with a touch of regret, in the elevator at work.

 

The minute the elevator doors slid shut, they both spoke at the same time. “I think maybe we shouldn’t…” and “Maybe we should lay off the…” Gibbs grunted and nodded, and Tim smiled, a little sadly, because it was over and they’d never kissed. Just as the elevator doors opened, Gibbs took Tim by the shoulders and gave him a kiss on the mouth, deep and sweet and surprisingly emotional. He lingered just a little too long, pulling away when the elevator doors were already halfway open, but there was nobody to see them kiss goodbye.

 

<< >> << >> << >>

 

**Present day, Washington, DC, October, 2017**

 

Tim was sure that if they were thrown into the same situation today, and if he was thinking straight, he’d probably take a pass. As Gibbs got older, he became more formidable, and Tim couldn’t imagine being ballsy enough to have sex with the boss today. That was odd, because when he was a probie, half the time he was scared of doing something wrong. Maybe, back then, he’d been so overwhelmed by all that was Gibbs, he simply did whatever he was told.

 

But then he met Delilah, four years ago, and because of her, his whole view on life and love had changed. The moment he’d set his sights on her, he’d switched sides, and now had no intention of going back. Delilah knew he’d ‘dated men,’ as she called it, but Tim never mentioned any names. He never told her any details, even though she seemed to be interested in learning more. He loved her, _everything_ about her: her resilience, bravery, sharp tongue, and even sharper brain. He loved the way she could make him do whatever she wanted with an arch of one eyebrow, the way he could always rely upon her… and she certainly wasn’t shy in the bedroom. In some ways, he came to realize, she was much stronger than Gibbs ever was.

 

Whenever it rained hard, and he was in bed listening to the sound of raindrops pattering on the roof, Tim would remember his first time with Gibbs, getting fucked in that motel cabin in Beaverdale. He’d smile to himself, but then he’d turn over and take Delilah in his arms, and they’d kiss sleepily, and his heart would ache with happiness, because he now knew that this was what it was like to truly be loved.

 

<< >> << >> << >>

 

**Present day, Gallagher’s, Washington, DC, October, 2017**

“Like Tony said, you looked like a pirate,” Tim told Gibbs, chuckling.

 

Gibbs’ smile faded. He gulped down some coffee and asked testily, “When’re you coming back? Nobody else can do half of what you do, with traces and...stuff.”

 

They both knew that Abby was just as good as he was, better at some things, but she wasn’t burning the midnight oil as much as she used to, now she had Burt to go home to.

 

“C’mon Boss, I set you up with two of the best tech guys we have,” Tim replied. He’d chosen two experienced agents from cyber crimes to work with the MCRT, who, even if they weren’t field agents, were good investigators. And neither of them were likely to run back to the basement the first time Gibbs scowled at them. Or so he’d thought. “What’d you do to them?” Tim asked, with narrowed eyes.

 

“I didn’t do anything to them. They quit on me,” Gibbs said defensively. He shrugged as if they were inconsequential. “What’s your time frame? I need you back ASAP.”

 

Tim swallowed his annoyance at Gibbs torpedoing the extra help. He should have known he wouldn’t get along with them. Gibbs had been difficult to deal with the past year and a half, since Tony had been ousted. Even before that, Gibbs had been impenetrable during the months he’d been slowly recuperating from being shot by that boy, Luke. Nobody could get through to him. He’d curled into himself, all tough shell on the outside, hiding his pain while he soldiered on. No two ways about it, Leroy Jethro Gibbs was a hard man to deal with.

 

Almost defiantly, Tim said, “I’m not sure I’m even coming back.”

 

<< >> << >> << >>

 

**Present day, Washington, DC, October, 2017**

 

All Tim knew was that he wanted Tony back; he had always been the one to handle Gibbs. He’d done so for years, until something had soured their relationship. Nobody knew exactly what had tipped the scales, but it had been bad enough for Tony to leave without warning. Tim wondered if Gibbs and Tony had been having a relationship that had gone bad. It would explain a lot.

 

They’d flirted a whole hell of a lot in the early days, but Tim hadn’t seen any hint of it for at least a couple of years now. He’d thought they’d finally gotten together, before EJ Barrett had turned up. Gibbs had disliked her, and had let it show, making Tim believe he was jealous of her. And then when she’d disappeared, and Tony had been shot, and had gone through his own struggle with amnesia, Gibbs had been softer with him, more attentive. It was hard to read either him or Tony, and even Abby, who had discussed it at length with Tim on more than one occasion, wasn’t positive whether or not Gibbs had acted on his feelings towards Tony.

 

Gibbs might not want Tony to come back to NCIS, but Tim did. They were stronger with him around; he was an integral part of the team, even if Gibbs wasn’t willing to admit it. Still, it was futile to wish for something you could never have, Tim thought. Tony had done the right thing, leaving. In fact, he should have done it years earlier, taken one of those promotions he’d been offered, from NCIS or from one of the outside agencies that had tried to recruit him multiple times.

 

Now that he’d been Gibbs’ senior agent for a year and a half, Tim had a good grasp of the pressure Gibbs was under, and he had come to admire how Tony had done his job with such effortless skill. For the first time since Tony had left, Tim felt that the new team members were working as a cohesive unit. Some of it was due to gaining familiarity with each other in the workplace, and some because Gibbs was finally losing that dark, grim persona that had hung over him ever since he was shot.

 

The night before he had left for parts unknown, Tony had admitted to Abby that he hadn’t even confronted Gibbs. “He said they didn’t talk about anything, not really,” Abby had told Tim. “He didn’t want to leave on a sour note. Tony said they hugged goodbye though.” Abby had looked uncertain yet hopeful. “That has to mean something, doesn’t it?”

 

At a loss, Tim had replied, “I don’t know, Abs. I don’t know why he’d treat Tony like that, not when he… I don’t know why Tony would walk away without…without sticking up for himself, either. I just don’t know.” He’d thought that Tony had been worn down by the job, by seeing so many friends killed. Cops got burned out all the time. Tony had been trying hard to change his life for the better, for some time, but being shot down by Gibbs, again and again, had been too much for him. A lesser man would have punched Gibbs in the mouth, and then tossed his badge in his face, months ago.

 

Gibbs was unfair to Tony, downright mean at times, during those last few months. Tim had never been able to figure exactly where the issue lay, and he’d thought about it a lot. Tony had been the one to take down Budd, shot him dead on the streets of Shanghai, in a move that Gibbs _must_ have been proud of. Or had Gibbs been pissed off because he felt it should have been _him_ out there, tracking down The Calling and their elusive leader? Or had he been upset that he’d been so grievously injured by a boy? One he’d trusted, and had believed he could save?

 

Was he mad at himself for being stupid enough to be duped by a kid, or was it because the great Leroy Jethro Gibbs had failed to save a child that everyone else had given up on? To Gibbs, losing a child – that was the ultimate failure. Only, Luke had survived, and was now getting the help he needed. Tony had told them that the teen was getting regular visits from CIA Agent Teague, Dorneget’s mother. How she could take an interest in Luke was beyond Tim. He may have been a pawn, yet he was still part of the terrorist group that had killed her son. Gibbs had gone to see Luke, too, and said barely a word for days afterwards.

 

Tim believed that Gibbs’ bad temper was acerbated by pain from his injuries. Gibbs had tried to hide it, but his knee, shattered and replaced, caused him chronic pain. They’d taken a dozen fragments of lead out of his chest, leaving scar tissue on his heart and lungs. Coming so close to death could easily haunt a man.

 

It wasn’t until Tony had been gone for a couple of weeks that Tim took his concerns to Ducky. “He’s changed so much, and he’s so angry.” Tim didn’t say that now Gibbs was taking it out on him.

 

Although the ME couldn’t speak of specifics of the team leader’s health, he did verify that being gravely injured, combined with psychological pain, could definitely impact a person’s personality. “Experiencing life-threatening events, and undergoing physical trauma, can bring on symptoms concurrent with PTSD,” Ducky had explained. “Emotions and behavior can change; someone with PTSD may see the world as hostile, and may even feel negative emotions about people to whom they were once close.”

 

This had upset Tim, especially as it confirmed what he’d suspected. Ducky had laid a hand on his shoulder and said, “I assure you that if I knew anyone with this syndrome, I would make sure they get the treatment they need. Even if they are unwilling.”

 

That had made Tim smirk. “Gave you trouble, huh?”

 

“You don’t know the half of it,” Ducky had replied, shaking his head ruefully.

 

<< >> << >> << >>

 

It had been eighteen months since Tony had set off for Europe with Tali. He had decided not to take Senior with him, which Tim thought was a smart move. Tony’s father may have mellowed a bit over the years, but Tony was right – Senior was a con man, through and through, and he wasn’t about to change, no matter how much he loved his granddaughter.

 

Tim was sad to see Tony go, but he understood why he had to get away, and applauded his decision to make a clean break. Gibbs may have unmercifully pushed him out of the nest, using methods that were both puzzling and unwarranted, but it had become apparent that it was high time Tony struck out on his own.

 

No matter what Gibbs’ motivation may have been, there was no reason for him to have rejected Tony like that, shunning him, leaving him behind whenever they got a call, treating Tony as if he was an incompetent junior agent. Tim had seen Tony’s face when Gibbs had ordered him, time and again, to remain in the office while the rest of the team went out into the field.

 

Tony had been confused and defeated, not to mention badly hurt at the way he was being treated. He didn’t say much, just kept trying to work his way back into Gibbs’ good graces. He went above and beyond the call of duty, stayed at work long after everyone else had gone, did paperwork and jobs that weren’t really his responsibility, and worked his butt off whenever they caught a case, even if he was stuck in the office. Nothing he did made any difference. Gibbs remained cold and distant. He knew damned well how much his actions hurt Tony, yet it was as if he did it on purpose, pushing Tony away with a derisive look, or ignoring him altogether.

 

It became too much to bear. Gibbs’ unrelenting dismissive attitude, coupled with the shock of Ziva’s death, signaled the end of Tony’s career at NCIS. Killing Kort had taken something out of him, too. He’d never killed for revenge before, and even if Kort’s death was determined to be justified, Tony never saw it that way.

 

It was a subdued, unhappy Tony who picked up his newfound daughter and walked away, quitting without notice. Tim couldn’t blame him; they all felt it was long overdue.

 

<< >> << >> << >>

 

 


	5. Afraid to Find

**CHAPTER 5 - Afraid to Find**

_We're both looking for something_  
_We've been afraid to find._  
 _It's easier to be broken,_  
 _It's easier to hide._  
 _Looking at you, holding my breath,_  
 _For once in my life, I'm scared to death._  
 _I'm taking a chance, letting you inside._

~ from “First Time” by Erika Nuri, Wade Robinson

**Present day, Washington, DC, October, 2017**

 

It was difficult, working without Tony. Tim and Bishop worked extra long hours to take up the slack, and felt the loss of Tony’s presence every day. It wasn’t solely because they had lost a teammate, an experienced agent with the best instincts and investigative skills – this was the loss of a good friend, and a member of their close-knit family. What’s more, it was a senseless loss, which made Tim resentful and angry at Gibbs for throwing away something so good.

 

It wasn’t long before Nick Torres and Alex Quinn joined them, but no matter how experienced the two agents might have been, they couldn’t make up for Tony’s absence.

 

Abby, Palmer, Bishop, and even Ducky, seemed dazed by Tony leaving. They talked for hours among themselves, replaying and dissecting everything that they’d seen, everything Gibbs had done, or what they thought he _might_ have done, trying to make sense of it all. They all had theories and wild guesses, and even questioned Tony’s part in it, although there was nothing to blame him for, as far as anyone could see.

 

They had to question their own part in Tony’s exit. Had they been too complacent in assuming that whatever was going on between Gibbs and Tony would sort itself out? It always had in the past. Afterwards, Tim wondered why he hadn’t stuck up for Tony, hadn’t been a good friend to him, and had failed his colleague on too many occasions. He hadn’t even gone to Tony to ask if he could help him in any way.

 

Not that Tony was likely to have opened up to him. They had become distant, ever since Delilah had become Tim’s focus. That was no excuse though. Tim had known something was very wrong and yet he’d never done anything about it. He couldn’t shake the feeling of guilt, knowing he should have tried harder. Tony had smiled and made out that “everything’s just fine, thanks, for caring, Probie,” when Tim asked what was going on. He should have persisted, made Tony spill the truth, but he hadn’t. He had taken the easy way out, and now he wondered what kind of man that made him. Not one he liked very much, that was for sure.

 

Even now, they were still no closer to knowing why Gibbs and Tony’s once-close relationship had fallen apart so monumentally, and with such a sense of finality.

 

They all blamed Gibbs, even Abby. Tim had tried confronting his boss a few times, but Gibbs had become more unapproachable than ever, and he always shot Tim down before he got more than a few words out. Somehow, without even mentioning Tony’s name, Gibbs had made it clear that he was not talking about him, period. Gibbs acted as if Tony was dead, or worse – that he had never existed at all.

 

Working with Gibbs over the past year and a half had been difficult, unpleasant, and more than a little depressing. There were days when Tim almost called in sick rather than go in to work – he couldn’t stand being anywhere near Gibbs – but he sucked it up and went in because he knew he was needed. Sometimes he felt as though it was a penance, a punishment he had to bear.

 

“It’s like when your parents go through a divorce,” Tim had said to Jimmy, even though imagining Gibbs and Tony in the role of parents didn’t sit well with him. “The kids always think it’s their fault.”

 

“Maybe it is,” Jimmy had replied morosely.

 

In the months that followed Tony leaving, it appeared that Gibbs was slowly overcoming the demons that had been plaguing him since he was shot. Now and then Tim would see Gibbs stop in his tracks and rub his chest, as if he had a pain, or couldn’t catch his breath, but whatever was going on didn’t last long, so Tim didn’t pursue it. He seemed slightly less annoyed at everyone, and had a surprisingly good rapport with Quinn. She had her own baggage to deal with, but apparently she was a good listener, too. Tim wondered if they were sleeping together, but then dismissed it; Gibbs didn’t look at her that way.

 

Gibbs continued to wear those severe, dark suits he’d been favoring since he’d come back to work. He hadn’t put back on the weight he’d lost in the hospital, though, and the well-cut jackets hung loosely on his spare frame.

 

“He looks like a crow,” Abby had said miserably, when they’d gone out for a drink after work, along with Palmer.

 

Jimmy had observed, “They look like burial clothes. You know, Agent Gibbs died on the operating table. Maybe he still feels like he’s dead.”

 

Abby had punched Jimmy’s arm before breaking into tears. “Don’t say that! That’s not true!”

 

Tim had hugged her while she sobbed, wisely refraining from saying how Gibbs _had_ been dead for several minutes before Dr. Taft had revived him.

 

A few days later, when Gibbs walked into work, wearing a maroon polo and an off-the-rack sports jacket that actually fit him, Abby had acted as if the sun had finally come out. Things did improve, though slowly, but Gibbs was still a long way from being the man Tim had known during his early tenure at NCIS.

 

<< >> << >> << >>

 

**Present day, Washington, DC, October, 2017**

 

It was a year and a half since Tony had left for Europe. There had been barely any contact with him beyond the occasional email, and a few postcards declaring, “Having a great time in Paris!” or a similar sentiment, postmarked Venice, Haifa or Istanbul, or from some town in Yugoslavia with an unpronounceable name. Tim and Abby tried to track him down, to no avail, and they had to be satisfied that at least he was making some attempt at communicating with them.

 

Tony wrote amusing but brief emails with pictures of Tali, at age three, and then four, always looking happy: on a swing in an English garden, wearing a party dress; dripping wet and grinning while knee-deep in a fountain in Rome; eating what might have been escargots at an outdoor café in France; and asleep in an undetermined location, looking sweetly angelic. The emails were usually sent in the small hours of the night, as if Tony never slept. There were never any shots of Tony himself.

 

Life went on. Abby kept a small shrine dedicated to Tony – next to one for Kate, Ziva and Dornie, and other fallen compatriots – but it had a more positive vibe now it was adorned with cute pictures of Tali. Tim spent his free evenings with Delilah, trying to find balance and making plans for their wedding. Gibbs, it turned out, was getting counseling. Tim knew this because he followed his boss one evening, and discovered the woman Gibbs was meeting a couple of times a week was not his lover, but his therapist.

 

Ellie Bishop had started seeing her ex-husband, Jake, again. Nobody believed it would last long, and Jake wasn’t allowed on NCIS grounds, anyway. Torres was still taking risky undercover assignments, but he was seeing a woman with a teenage son, and he was talking about buying a house. Quinn was going back to teaching at FLETC soon; MI6 officer Reeves was negotiating to take her spot. Jimmy, who had taken on some of Ducky’s responsibilities, had just announced that he and Breena were expecting another baby. And just when it seemed as though Ducky would continue working until he dropped, he announced his plans to retire, at age eighty, next year.  

 

And then, not four months ago, just as the members of the MCRT found their groove, and were working together like a well-oiled machine, a petty officer being sought on murder charges took a wild shot at Bishop. It missed Bishop. Instead, the bullet struck Tim, blowing his arm half off.

 

<< >> << >> << >>

 

**Present day, Gallagher’s, Washington, DC, October, 2017**

 

Gibbs demanded, “What the hell d’you mean, you’re not coming back?”

 

“I said I wasn’t sure.” Tim winced and cradled his left arm. He wished he’d worn the sling after all. Maybe, if he had, Gibbs wouldn’t be yelling at him right now. Tim thought that Gibbs, of all people, must understand that recovery takes time, that there were set-backs. “I’ll know more tomorrow. I have an appointment with my doctor in the morning. Hopefully I won’t need another surgery. Two are enough,” he said. His humerus, shattered by the impact of the bullet, was now held together with a titanium rod and a whole lot of screws. Bad infections and trouble with circulation had put his recovery back by weeks. “PT is helping…there’s some improvement but…”

 

Despite Gibbs’ outburst, he was now looking at Tim with sympathy. Tim realized that he hadn’t seen much emotion in his boss for the past couple of years, with the exception of barely contained anger. And pain – he’d seen that, too, though Gibbs was very good at covering it up. He had become almost as good as Tony at hiding his true feelings, only Tony tended to use distraction and misdirection, rather than shutting everyone out.

 

“Delilah helping you out?” Gibbs asked, sounding understanding.

 

For a moment, Tim wasn’t sure how to respond. Gibbs’ usual taciturn attitude was nowhere to be seen. He was almost in nice-Gibbs territory, and Tim was cynical enough to wonder whether this sudden concern was due to Gibbs being worried about having to find a replacement for him.

 

Deciding to give Gibbs the benefit of the doubt, Tim answered, “Yes, she is. She’s making me stick to the program. I was really going at it with the exercises, so I could get it over with, but Delilah stopped me and pointed out that pain is not a measure–“

 

“Not a measure of success,” finished Gibbs, nodding in understanding.

 

“I thought I’d be back by now, even if it’s only riding a desk. It’s been four months,” Tim complained.

 

“You rush things, push too hard, you’ll end up hurting yourself, and lose ground,” Gibbs said, sounding as if he were speaking from experience.

 

“But what if I can’t come back–“

 

“You will,” Gibbs said, as if his word was law.

 

“You need to get the cyber guys back,” Tim said stubbornly.

 

“I don’t want strangers hanging around,” Gibbs countered, as if the NCIS agents Tim had arranged to support the MCRT were bums he’d picked up off the street.

 

Exasperated, Tim said, “You’ve got two good agents on the team, and isn’t Reeves starting soon?” Ellie had stepped up to the plate, but she couldn’t fill Tim’s shoes all on her own. Torres was a bit too much of a loner, and not always a team player, but he was experienced in the field.

 

“It isn’t the same without you and–” Gibbs caught himself before he said any more, but Tim knew he had been about to say, ‘Tony.’

 

Tim almost blurted, ‘And whose fault is that, you big prick?’ He didn’t though. Even after all this time, Tony’s absence made it feel like the world was off kilter. It just didn’t feel right, and he was pretty sure that Gibbs felt it, too. “I want the old team back,” Tim admitted in a small voice.

 

Gibbs looked away, his jaw working. “Not gonna happen, so stop wishing for it. Look, you need to take time to heal up, hear me?”

 

Tim knew he was right, but staying at home for weeks on end, and going out only for PT and doctor’s appointments, was nobody’s idea of a good time. “How did you stand it? All those months, not being able to go to work? Didn’t it drive you crazy?” Tim asked, knowing that it had, indeed, driven Gibbs to his own special brand of crazy.

 

“Oh yeah.” Gibbs stared into his coffee and rubbed his chest absently. “It seemed to take forever, and Abby was always at my house, smothering me. Had to kick her out before I did something I’d regret. Took a lot of hugs and Caf!Pow! to get her to forgive me.”

 

“You came back really quickly though.”

 

Gibbs shrugged. “I might’ve come back a little early. I thought everything would be good once I got back to work, but… but it wasn’t. It felt different somehow…wrong. And every time I’d limp or wince, people would tense up, like they expected me to keel over.”

 

“Yeah, like when you started clutching at your chest and collapsed in the squad room,” Tim reminded him.

 

“I did not collapse,” said Gibbs, waving Tim’s comment away.

 

With a snort, Tim replied, “Right. That’s why they carted you off to the hospital, and we all thought you were dying. But you were back on your feet before we could pass a get-well card around the office for you.”

 

“Sorry to disappoint,” Gibbs retorted.

 

“You know we all care. We were worried.” Tim sighed. “But I know what it’s like. When you’re hurt, everyone tries to be nice and helpful, but I really don’t want or need Abby coming over all the time, trying to entertain me. And what is it with Quinn and her high-calorie dishes? Fettucini alfredo, really? Abby, too. She brought me chocolate cake and ice cream, like I’m a sick kid or something. And now Delilah’s pissed at me because I ate the cake. It was good, too, but she’s got me on a diet of protein and greens to encourage healing. She called everyone on the team, including Ducky, and told them she was going to toss any food they brought over straight into the garbage, and now they’re not speaking to her. I know everyone was trying to be helpful but…”

 

Gibbs nodded in sympathy. “But you just want to be left damned well alone.”

 

“I appreciate Bishop giving me rides to appointments, but she holds open doors and…she hovers and makes me nervous.” Tim pulled a face. “Sorry, I sound really ungrateful.”

 

“Tell me about it,” Gibbs said with a humph.

 

Tim smiled and shook his head. It was weird, after nearly two years of walking around on tenterhooks, he had finally found something to talk to Gibbs about, something they actually had in common. He wondered, had their line of work been different, if they’d felt more comfortable about their homosexuality, if they would have had a long-term relationship. No, he decided, without needing to give it much thought. Their time together been stimulating, exciting and fulfilling, but it had run its course. It had been a time of change for both of them, an interim before they’d moved on. Afterwards, it hadn’t been too difficult, dealing with Gibbs on a daily basis without thinking of him on sexual terms. Now Tim realized he preferred him to be his boss rather than his lover.

 

Their dinner arrived and the two men dug in. At least it was a meal easily eaten with one utensil. Tim was grateful that it was his left arm that had been wounded, and not his right. He could type with his left hand, if he held his arm close to his body, but he’d been relying on dictation apps for the most part, especially when his arm grew tired and ached.

 

After they’d been eating for a while, Gibbs asked the question that Tim didn’t really want to answer: “You never said: what’s the prognosis?”

 

Tim met Gibbs’ serious gaze. The doctors had sounded hopeful yet cautious about his recovery, but they had hedged their bets, saying there was a possibility he might not regain full use of the arm. Tim had never said the words aloud, the words he was about to say to Gibbs. Not to Delilah. Not even to himself. “They say… I might not get back full use of my arm.” There, he’d said it.

 

Tim found himself choking up. Saying it aloud made it all too real. His arm was a hopeless mess; he’d be lying if he said anything else. Enduring the surgeries and near-constant pain, putting in all the hard work to regain strength and mobility – he’d made far less progress than he’d expected, or had hoped for. It just wasn’t fair. He’d never even been shot before, not in the sixteen years he’d been in law enforcement. For one small bullet to have done so much damage, to take away his chance at doing field work, to steal away his any chance of having normal function restored in his arm – it hurt so much he didn’t know how to handle it.

 

All of a sudden, Gibbs’ hand was on top of his, warm and comforting, and oh, so strong – and exactly what Tim needed. The small act of kindness meant a lot to Tim, but as soon as he saw the compassion in Gibbs’ eyes, out of nowhere, a surge of anger ripped through him. Here was evidence that Gibbs could reach out to a friend in need, so why had he never been able to extend his hand to Tony? Tim knew instinctively that Gibbs, the hard-ass, hadn’t reached out, hadn’t shown any kindness to the man he loved when he was most in need of it. How could he be like that, to Tony, of all people?

 

And Gibbs _loved_ Tony. Tim knew this for a fact, and had known it for some time. He also knew that Gibbs had never told Tony, and that Tony cared so deeply for Gibbs that Gibbs’ attitude towards him had just about broken him.

 

“ _Don’t_.” Tim pulled his hand out of Gibbs’ grasp, like he was being burned.

“Hey…” Gibbs said, confused at the anger coloring Tim’s face.

 

“I don’t want nice,” Tim said harshly.

 

Gibbs stared at Tim, recoiling as if he’d been physically hit. Tim remembered, long ago: Kate, just killed, rain pelting down outside, Tony coughing, and both of them soaked and shivering. Gibbs asking if they wanted something hot to drink. Tim had savored the rare show of concern from their boss, but Tony had sneered, “Nice? I don’t want nice. He’s not Gibbs if he’s nice.”

 

“Tim?” Gibbs asked softly, not understanding.

 

“I don’t like it when you’re nice,” Tim ground out, finally understanding what Tony had meant. Nice Gibbs was of no use to them in their line of work. They needed his strength, his backbone, his common sense and straightforward ways, needed him to be there without question, willing to kill for them, to be relentless, and to act as the hand of justice when all else failed. “I need you to be strong,” he managed to get out.

 

Gibbs stared at him. “I can’t always be strong, Tim. I try but I… can’t.” He pushed his plate away, apparently having lost his appetite. The server brought Gibbs another coffee when he signaled to her, but otherwise left them alone.

 

Eventually, Tim said, “If I can’t be able to be a field agent any more. . .” It just about broke his heart, which surprised him. He’d dedicated himself to his job, to serving the Navy and Gibbs, but he’d always had a life outside NCIS, despite what others thought. Sure, he was hooked on tactical warfare games, but these days he spent more time writing fiction than he did online. And whenever Delilah was home, they made a point of doing things together. Tim loved her with all his heart, and never begrudged the time he spent with her, or felt it took away from his hobbies or his writing. Delilah came first, and she knew it; they were talking about their wedding, making plans for their future together.

 

After a while, Tim said, “When I was laid up, I had to do something with my time, so I started a small publishing company.”

 

“What for? Thought you had a publisher.”

 

“Yeah, well, they sort of screwed me over. I wanted to retain control of my own work. I went to a mystery writers’ expo, and met these guys who were like me. They were cops and military, retired mostly, even some ex-spies, all with stories to tell. They mostly wrote fiction, but the ones who had written first-hand experiences, those writers were sitting on winners. They needed help getting their stories told, and didn’t know who to trust. Some of us got together to talk about it, and…that’s when I decided to help them out.”

 

“So you’re planning your next career already?” Gibbs asked, his tone acid.

 

Tim replied sharply, “I didn’t say I was quitting NCIS, Gibbs. I’m talking about if I can’t get qualified for field work. What if I’m permanently sidelined? You don’t think I’m gonna sit on my ass at a desk all day, do you? Shit, you know how that is–.”

 

Gibbs surprised Tim by shaking his head and smiling.

 

Thinking he was mocking him, Tim demanded, “What’s so funny?”

 

“Nothing. Just, you sound like me, McGee.”

 

All of a sudden, Tim relaxed with a smile. “Yeah, well, considering everything we’ve been through together, I’m not surprised.”

 

Gibbs commanded, “So stop saying how you might not pass the physical. Enough with the negative crap. This isn’t the _Last Supper_ , you know.”

 

“No, it isn’t,” Tim relented. They server was looking at them so Tim signaled for the check. When it arrived, he paid for it and, surprisingly, Gibbs let him. Gibbs laid down cash for the tip, and Tim nodded his thanks. “Um… there’s something else I need to talk to you about.”

 

Gibbs rolled his eyes. “Now what? You want a raise or something?”

 

“Well, that would be nice, but I’d ask Vance so… No, that’s not it.” Tim finished off his beer, and looked straight in Gibbs’ eyes. “Gibbs…um…I wasn’t sure if I should tell you or not.”

 

“Whatever it is, just spit it out.” Gibbs looked at him warily.

 

“It’s Tony. He’s back in town.”

<< >> << >> << >>

 


	6. Screwed Me Over

**CHAPTER 6 – Screwed Me Over**

_Now and then I think of all the times you screwed me over,_  
_But had me believing it was always something that I'd done._  
_But I don't wanna live that way,_  
_Reading into every word you say._  
_You said that you could let it go,_  
_And I wouldn't catch you hung up on somebody that you used to know._

~ from "Somebody That I Used To Know" sung by Gotye, featuring Kimbra

**Present day, Washington, DC, October, 2017**

 

It was funny, really, that during the time they’d worked together, Tony had teased him about being gay, while not really believing the truth behind those friendly jibes. Tim had never revealed his preference for men to anyone, not to Tony and certainly not to Abby. If Abby ever discovered he was gay, then the world would soon know it, too. The first time they had slept together was so awkward, he’d told Abby the truth – that it was his first time with a woman. Abby had been really sweet about it, something Tim would never forget. Even though it hadn’t worked out, they had grown close over the years. In a way, he thought that was even better.

 

On the other hand, Tim had suspected, right from the start, that Tony must be bisexual, if not gay. As far as he knew, it never crossed anyone’s mind that Tony was interested in men. After all there was all that bragging about his casual female conquests, and the way he blatantly flirted with female suspects. On the other hand, there was never any gossip around the water cooler about Tony sleeping with Paula Cassidy, Jenny Shepard, Jeanne, EJ, Zoë, and of course there was his relationship with Ziva. The fact that Tony was able to keep all of those liaisons quiet, made Tim wonder if he’d had any secret boyfriends.

 

But what Tim knew for a fact – what Abby would call a mother-of-all-secrets – was that Tony had been in love with his boss since day one. In love with Gibbs and denying it, to himself as well as others – that was Tony. And what’s more, Tim was certain that Gibbs felt the same way about the man who’d been his second-in-command for sixteen years. It was hopeless though; neither of them would ever admit their feelings unless driven to it. They were like two great boulders sitting firmly in the middle of a rushing river, both determined to stay put, no matter what. Well, it was time someone did something about it, thought Tim. It was up to him to get a crowbar and put some muscle into prying those two rocks out of the riverbed, whether they liked it or not. He sighed; even if he was successful in pushing the two men together, there was no guarantee that anything would come of it.

 

            << >> << >> << >>           

 

“DiNozzo’s back?”

 

It was odd to see Gibbs look disconcerted. It made Tim realize that Gibbs was even more affected by Tony’s absence than he’d realized. “You thought he’d never come back,” Tim surmised. He shouldn’t be so surprised, considering that Gibbs had driven Tony away.

 

“You’ve seen him?”

 

“We ran into each other.” Tim could have said a lot more, like how Tony had reached out when he’d heard Tim had been badly injured, how they’d met and talked, and talked some more, but he didn’t. Now it was Gibbs’ chance to talk to Tony face-to-face, and to give him the answers that he deserved. Tim pulled a piece of paper out of his breast pocket, and slid it across the table to Gibbs. “This is his address. No telling how long he’ll be there, so you’d better act on it sooner rather than later,” he said coldly.

 

Gibbs didn’t take the piece of paper. He stared at it for a long moment before looking sourly at Tim. “What makes you think I want to see him?”

 

Recognizing that this was going to be difficult, Tim decided to hit below the belt. “I think the question you should be thinking about is, why would he want to see _you_? The way you’ve treated him, he should be happy to never see you again, Gibbs.”

 

“Then there’s no need for this,” Gibbs said harshly, gesturing at the paper that bore Tony’s current address.

 

“There’s every need for this,” Tim insisted, getting pissed off at Gibbs’ surly attitude. “What you did to Tony was wrong, plain wrong, and _mean_ , and now it’s time for you to get over yourself and go to him, because you need to apologize, and you should ask for… no, _beg_ for his forgiveness, to get down on your fucking knees if you have to. You beat Tony down and forced him out, Gibbs! You owe him an explanation, and a hell of a lot more!”

 

Gibbs shook his head, looking defeated. “He won’t…”

 

Tim shot back, “He _will_ , and you know how I know? I talked to him. Yeah, and I asked him how he was doing and if there was anything he needed, and you know what he said? ‘How is he?’ That’s _all_ he said. He cares so fucking much about you that he wants to know how _you_ are. And we both know that you don’t deserve him or his affection, but he’s offering it just the same. Even after all the shit you did to him, he still cares about you, cares _for_ you!”

 

Tim slid out of the booth and leaned over Gibbs. “You need to get your head out of your ass, Gibbs. Get rid of all that fucked-up anger that’s been eating at you ever since you were shot. Exorcise it, do whatever it takes. And then get the hell over yourself and go see him, and if you have an ounce of sense left in you, if you care at _all_ for him – and damn it, I know you do – you tell him how you really feel about him. I mean how you _really_ feel. Because this is your last chance, and if you don’t do the right thing, you’ll regret it for the rest of your life.”

 

Gibbs sat there, staring at him. He looked beyond words, and sort of sad and lost, and Tim almost gave in and hugged him. He couldn't though. He had given Gibbs a dose of tough love, and now it was up to him to sort it out with Tony.

 

Tim smoothed down his tie, tamping down the anger that had escaped so forcefully. “I’m leaving now. I’ll let you know what the doctor says, if I’m cleared for desk duty.”

 

Gibbs nodded.

 

Tim sighed. “I hope you work this out with Tony, Gibbs. I really do.” As he turned to leave, Tim found that several restaurant patrons, as well as wait staff, staring at him, and he realized his voice must have carried throughout the restaurant. A woman at a nearby table started clapping, and then a man joined in, and a couple who looked like they were on a date, and Tim felt his face heating up in sheer embarrassment. He picked up his coat, intending to flee, but Gibbs grabbed his wrist before he could take a step.

 

“Wait,” Gibbs said, pleading with his eyes.

 

Tim waited, feeling drained, afraid he’d said too much. Afraid Gibbs would do nothing.

 

Gibbs gave Tim’s wrist a squeeze, a strangely intimate gesture, before releasing it. He asked Tim, “You sure? He wants… to see me?”

 

“Yes,” Tim replied confidently.

 

After a second, Gibbs reached out to gingerly pick up the piece of paper. He tucked it safely his jacket.

 

Tim directed, “You go see him.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Don’t leave it too long.”

 

Gibbs nodded. He stood and Tim thought he was going to shake his hand, but instead, Gibbs drew him into a big hug, careful of his wounded arm. “You take care of yourself, Tim.”

 

Tim murmured into Gibbs’ neck, “You, too.”

 

Gibbs released Tim and stood back. He looked him up and down and growled, “And get rid of that damned goatee.”

 

            << >> << >> << >>           

**Present day, Washington, DC, late October, 2017**

 

Gibbs drove to the address Tim had given him, and parked his truck out front. He didn’t have to glance at the address, written in Tim’s concise handwriting, to know he had the right place. He knew it by heart, having pulled the neatly folded piece of paper out, and then returned it to his wallet, multiple times over the past week.

 

The place where Tim said he’d find Tony was a three-story brick townhouse in Columbia Heights, built in the late 1800s, from the looks of it. A scrubby tree growing in the small fenced yard only partially obscured the peeling paint and rickety front porch. Half the homes in the neighborhood were in similar condition, but on this Saturday morning, Gibbs could hear the sound of hammering and see homeowners working on repairs to their homes.

 

The house didn’t look like somewhere Tony would live, even if he had little Tali in tow. This was the kind of neighborhood that attracted families with kids, urbanites who worked at universities and tech start-ups, green folks who spent summer evenings toiling in the community garden at the end of the block. Even the vehicles parked along the quiet street didn’t match the Tony he knew, all big family cars designed for toting around kids and large dogs, big loads of groceries and weekend sports equipment – and, apparently, home-improvement supplies.

 

Gibbs had done a cursory background check into the owner of the townhouse. A husband and wife by the name of Ketterling had bought the property only a couple of months ago; the man ran some kind of medical service company and his wife designed handbags. Gibbs could find no connection between Tony and the Ketterlings. Since Tony had sold his condo to McGee when he’d quit NCIS, it was likely he was renting, especially if he was going to pick up and head back to Europe, or wherever. Gibbs had a hard time picturing Tony hopping on a plane for Paris with Tali in tow, although apparently he’d done just that, and had survived eighteen months of it. Even experienced parents would blanch at traveling around Europe with a small child, for months on end.

 

Tim had said that Tony might not be staying in the same place for very long. Time was running out; he had to act fast. He couldn’t miss this one chance to see Tony again, for the first time in a year and a half, to face him and tell him the truth. He had to talk with Tony, actually _talk_ , before it was too late. Apologize, too. Talking was not easy for him, even painful at times, but by carrying on a meaningful conversation with Taft, and then with Dr. Grace, he had proven he was capable of communicating with more than grunts and glares. It had helped him, laying bare his soul, talking about his pain, his fears, even though he was having a difficult time admitting it.

 

Gibbs had a sudden craving for a shot of bourbon, but he had stopped drinking a year ago, after he’d gone on a bender that had ended up with a smashed boat, a broken hand and threatening Ducky. He didn’t remember much of it, but was ashamed of his behavior. When he’d finally sobered up, shaky and consumed by self-hatred, he’d been severely rebuked by Ducky, Taft, and even Quinn. It had taken counseling, and a good, hard look at himself, for Gibbs to finally accept he needed to make some major changes in his life. He’d been taking baby steps, trying to make things right, and talking to Tony was now at the top of his list, thanks to McGee giving him a push in the right direction. Taking a deep breath, Gibbs got out of his truck and straightened his shoulders.

 

            << >> << >> << >>           

 

Up close, the porch was a lot worse for wear, and he almost tripped over a loose board as he climbed the steps. Gibbs swore under his breath. What kind of people were these Ketterlings, that they couldn’t pick up a hammer and do a simple repair? It was dangerous; someone could get hurt. Gibbs took a moment to calm down before ringing the doorbell. It wouldn’t do to have Tony open the door, only to be confronted with his angry face. He heard the sound of a buzzer, then a squeal and little feet running, and a woman calling out breathlessly that she was coming.

 

The door opened, and Gibbs immediately recognized Tali, now four years old, standing on the threshold and looking up expectantly, a smile brightening her features. A woman with lots of dark, curly hair falling over her face, was right behind her. She reached down, taking hold of the little girl’s arm before she escaped. “You can’t just run outside, Tali,” the woman admonished.

 

She raised her eyes and gave Gibbs an apologetic smile, and in an instant, all the oxygen left his lungs. He couldn't catch his breath; his heart pounded in his ears. Somehow he got out, “Ziva!”

 

The moment after he said Ziva’s name, Gibbs realized he’d made a mistake. It wasn’t her. It wasn’t her… The similarity was striking though, the dark hair, dark eyes, the shape of her face. “Ziva,” he whispered.

 

The woman’s eyes widened and then her expression softened in understanding. “Oh, no. I’m so sorry. I’m Miriam. Ziva was my cousin.” She stepped back and motioned for Gibbs to enter. “You must be Gibbs. Come in, come in. Just call me Mimi.” She shouted over her shoulder, “Tony, you have company!” Then, “Ian! We have to get going or we’ll miss Ling Ling and Bei Bei. Have you got Mason?”

 

Tali reached up, crying out, “Gibbsy!”

 

Instinctively, Gibbs picked her up and smiled at her, and stepped inside. Mimi ushered him into a large living room just off the entrance hall. He was astounded at how good it felt to hold Tali again. She’d grown, was definitely heavier in his arms. He was so busy thinking about everything he’d missed in this little girl’s life since he’d last seen her, that he didn’t hear half of what the woman… Mimi… was saying. Tali was chattering about her new bedroom and how she was getting a kitten, and how Abba was doing something in the cucina. He didn’t catch half of what she said because she spoke mostly in Hebrew, but wasn’t ‘cucina’ Italian for the kitchen?

 

A tall blond man with a receding hairline and wire-rimmed glasses joined them, and was introduced as Ian Ketterling, Mimi’s husband. A small boy ran up, looking like a slightly older version of Tali. “This is our son, Mason,” Mimi said proudly, as the boy held out his hand to shake Gibbs’. Gibbs was being bombarded with information: Ian was working in integrative medicine, Mason was almost six and he’d lost his lower front tooth last night, and apparently they were going to see some panda bears.

 

As soon as Gibbs put Tali down, she asked, this time in English, if he was going to the zoo with them. She pulled at his hand, saying, “Abba!” When he turned to look in the direction she was pointing, there was Tony, standing in the doorway at the far side of the living room. Once again, Gibbs had trouble breathing. The chatter going on around him receded to a hum, as if someone had turned down the volume, leaving only static. Everyone disappeared from sight; he only had eyes for Tony.

 

Tali was taken out of his arms, and Mimi reminded Tony they were heading out and would be back in a few hours. “We promised them the zoo. Special panda exhibit,” she said, while herding the kids and her husband back into the hallway, opening coat closet. “Shoes, everyone. Get their jackets, Ian, would you?” While Ian was dealing with the kids, Mimi looked from Tony to Gibbs, and then back again. She asked, “Will you be here when we get back? You’re welcome to stay for supper.”

 

Gibbs tore his eyes away from Tony, long enough to respond, “I’m not sure, but thank you.”

 

Tony, still in the doorway, too damned far away, seemed to be waiting for something. While Gibbs tried to figure out what to say, and couldn’t stop wondering how was it that Tony looked so damned handsome, and why was he so tall and thin, Mimi and her husband bundled the kids out the front and shut the door behind them.

 

The silence was immediate, and very scary. Gibbs swallowed on his dry throat and said, “Tony. . .”

 

Tony crossed his arms but didn’t advance. “Jethro.”

 

With a sinking feeling that this probably wasn’t going to go at all well, Gibbs took a couple of steps towards Tony, lessening the distance to about twenty feet. Still too far away. He moved closer, skirting some toys strewn on the wooden floor. Tony stood straighter and stiffened. Gibbs stopped in his tracks, and said, “You’re looking good.” Indeed, Tony did look good, dressed in a plain white tee and worn jeans, both damp across his middle, as if he’d been splashed by a pan of water. His feet were bare, and as Gibbs looked at them, Tony wiggled his toes. Nervous, thought Gibbs.

 

In retaliation, Tony looked Gibbs up and down, and drawled, “What happened to you?”

 

“What?”

 

Tony made a gesture with one hand, indicating Gibbs’ outfit. “You’re back in your Sears best. Where’d the Hugo Boss go?”

 

Gibbs looked down at his sports jacket and red polo, undershirt showing at the neck, roomy trousers and rubber-soled shoes. His usual work clothes, these days. “Oh. Yeah. Gave up the fancy duds a while back. They’re packed away.”

 

Tony raised an eyebrow. “Your attitude been packed away, too?”

 

Biting back a retort, Gibbs said, “I think so.”

 

“You don’t know?” Tony challenged. “What did you come here for, anyway?”

 

“I’m _trying_ , Tony,” Gibbs blurted. He caught himself, knowing that Tony had every right to be angry and question his motives. “I didn’t come here to quarrel with you,” he said softly, almost as a way to remind himself. There was too much at stake to go flying off the handle at the slightest provocation.

 

Tony took several steps forward, closing the distance between them. There was no mistaking the anger in his green eyes when he said tersely, “Good, because if you say anything I don’t like, I’ll toss you out on your ear. No second chances, either. I’m not letting you, or anyone, take your shit out on me. Definitely not in my own house.”

 

“Understood,” Gibbs said. So this was Tony’s house? Did that mean he was here to stay, even though McGee had said Tony wouldn’t be around long? He had a hundred questions, but interrogating Tony about the details of his life right now would not go down well. That much he knew.

 

Tony stood there, his jaw working. It looked like he wanted to yell, or hit something, but whatever was going on in that head of his, he was keeping it to himself. He never took his eyes off Gibbs though. Gibbs knew that look; Tony was assessing him, weighing him up, looking for his weak points. Gibbs stared right back for a long moment, and then looked away, giving Tony time to sort things out and make the next step.

 

For the first time since he’d arrived, Gibbs had a good look at his surroundings. The house might be old, but the front room had newly refinished floors and beautiful original molding around the fireplace. All around were signs that some renovation was going on: a bucket of tools, several paint cans stacked up on a drop cloth, some trim missing around a doorway. He could see through to the kitchen: a wrench and some other tools were visible on the counter; there was a sizable pool of water on linoleum floor. His gaze slid back towards Tony, taking in his damp shirt and pants. “Plumbing giving you trouble?”

 

The pissed off expression on Tony’s face was not directed at Gibbs this time. It was obvious he was having trouble with fixing the place up. Not surprising, as he’d never known Tony to do so much as lift a wrench.

 

Tony jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “The damned sink keeps leaking, and this morning the pipes underneath decided to explode.”

 

Without thinking, Gibbs asked, “You want some help? I’m good with a wrench.”

 

Apparently Tony didn’t give it much thought, either. He immediately looked relieved, and asked, “Will you?” A second later, a guarded expression appeared. “This doesn’t mean…”

 

Gibbs held up his hands. “I’m just giving you a hand with the sink.”

 

<< >> << >> << >>


	7. Gonna Make This Work

**CHAPTER 7 – Gonna Make This Work**

_If we're gonna make this work_  
_You gotta let me inside even though it hurts._  
_Don't hide the broken parts that I need to see._  
_Like it or not it's the way it's gotta be._  
_You gotta love yourself if you can ever love me._

~ from “Whatever it Takes” by Lifehouse

**Present day, Washington, DC, late October, 2017**

 

Tony led the way to the kitchen, which was orange and avocado, stuck in the ‘70s, and there were signs of termite damage under the cabinets. It needed a gut job, in Gibbs’ opinion, but as he was there to solve the sink problem, he removed his sports jacket, and dumped it on a chair. Wordlessly, Tony handed him a heavy towel, which he kneeled upon. Tony handed him a flashlight a second before he asked for one. Like old times, he thought, with a slight smirk.

It didn’t take a rocket scientist – or a plumber – to see that the pipes were corroded, the wrong size, and set at the wrong angle. “I can do a temporary fix, but this all needs replacing,” Gibbs said, suddenly feeling energized at being able to help out. He had Tony hand him the tools he needed, and soon had it rigged so at least they could use the sink for a few days without getting flooded.

 

He let Tony know what needed to be repaired, and what to say to the plumber so he didn’t get ripped off. Tony took notes, pencil scribbling in a small notebook. He nodded as he listened to the instructions, which took Gibbs back to their days working together. When he stood up, his knees cracked, and his bad leg – the one with the new knee – almost gave way. Gibbs had to hang onto the counter for a moment, and before he could move out of the way, Tony reached past him to stick a bucket under the pipes. Their bodies bumped and Tony froze for a moment and stared at him. Gibbs wasn’t sure what he was seeing in Tony’s eyes. Maybe a little fear, definitely some residual anger. Gibbs pretended he didn’t see it, and closed the cabinet under the sink. “Got a mop handy?”

 

“Oh…” Tony looked around and grabbed a sponge mop, running it over the wet patch and squeezing water into the sink a few times. “Good enough.”

 

Their initial ready-to-take-offense attitude had dissipated, but Gibbs wasn’t sure what the next step should be.

 

Tony solved the problem by offering him coffee. “The only appliance that hasn’t either broken down or exploded since we moved in is the coffee pot. Let’s sit in the living room.”

 

He accepted that Tony’s offer of coffee was a flag of truce. “Sounds good.” Looking around the kitchen, Gibbs found there was large farm table but no chairs. Curiosity made him inquire, “Where do you eat?”

 

“On our laps, or out back. There’s a table on the patio. The kids think it’s fun, like camping.” Tony shrugged. “Buying chairs is on the list for tomorrow. Mimi wants to go to the outdoor market.”

 

The coffee was soon ready, and they settled in the living room – Gibbs on a nice leather couch, and Tony on a straight-backed chair. McGee’s idea that he could just turn up at Tony’s and make a big apology, and everything would be all right, was naïve at best, but he was willing to try anything at this point. It was unlikely that sharing a cup of coffee and engaging in some stilted conversation would somehow lead to all being forgiven, but at least it was a start.

 

Tony sipped his coffee and studiously avoided talking.

 

“Tim gave me your address,” Gibbs said, for lack of anything better to say.

 

“I know. I gave it to him,” Tony said curtly.

 

Okay, that didn’t go anywhere. Gibbs said, “Thank you. For inviting me.”

 

Tony opened his mouth, and from the look on his face, it appeared he was going to refute the statement that he’d invited Gibbs in. Instead, he sighed and said tiredly, “I figured we’d end up running into each other at some point, and I didn’t want us to engage in World War 3, or _World War Z_ , though hopefully without the zombies. Or maybe _War of the Roses_ would be more accurate…only without the cat getting killed….” Tony could see that he’d lost Gibbs at World War 3, so he finished up, “So I thought we could meet here, in private.”

 

Gibbs drank some coffee and asked, “Tali was speaking Italian?”

 

Tony’s face relaxed into a smile. “She picked it up really fast. Dad hooked me up with some DiNozzo relatives, and we stayed with them for a couple of months. Not far from Naples. They were really good to us, nice folks. We were sorry to leave but…” He halted, as if he’d given too much away, and the smile faded.

 

“You came back here,” Gibbs prompted.

 

Tony looked at Gibbs for a long while, and relaxed. It appeared he had come to a decision. Lucky for Gibbs, that decision was to relate what he and his daughter had been up to for the past year and a half. He could tell that Tony was holding a lot back, but Gibbs sucked up everything that Tony was willing to give. They’d gone to Israel, Tony said, where he’d met Mimi and Ian, through Orli Elbaz. They’d known Ziva, and they helped him with the legal issues surrounding her estate. But Tony hadn’t felt it was safe there. “We were being watched,” Tony said, frowning. As soon as everything was settled, Tony had taken Tali to England, where they stayed with his cousin Crispian Paddington and family for a couple of months.

 

“Ziva once told me about her father’s habit of keeping gold in safety deposit boxes in different countries,” Tony said. “I tracked down a couple of them. The rest of his stashes can wait ‘til later. Tali will never want for anything, and my job is to give her the best, happiest, most stable life I can.”

 

They moved on to Paris, and eventually settled in Italy. Tony surprised Gibbs by saying he’d taken on the job as local supervisor for the Habitat for Humanity office in Verona. Abby had connected him with the right people, and they’d been in dire need of organizing, Tony explained.

 

“There came a time when it just felt like… like I needed to come home,” Tony said, sounding a bit down. He quickly put on a smile and added, “When I’d met Mimi and Ian, they were talking about coming back to the US. Ian – he’s from Baltimore – was working for the Euro branch of his company and his term was up. They couldn’t afford a house in DC, any more than I could, so we pooled our resources.” Before Gibbs could ask, Tony said, “I don’t want to touch her inheritance, not for the house. I wanted to buy it myself. Mimi is wonderful, taking care of the kids most of the time. I do my part, and help out…”

 

“Ziva was Mimi’s cousin?” asked Gibbs.

 

“Yeah. Mimi’s and Ziva’s mothers were sisters, but Mimi’s mom emigrated to Canada when Mimi was a baby. Ian met Mimi in France, and their son was born there; Tali is Israeli/American. Guess that makes us one big, happy international family,” he said with a grin. “We found this gem of a house and bought it a couple of months ago. You should have seen it when we first moved in. Barely livable. We’re getting it done, one room at a time, and we expect the reno will be finished by the time we all retire,” Tony said with a familiar laugh. “I do know how to hang a shingle, courtesy of Habitat, even if my plumbing skills are negligible.”

 

“It looks good, a real home, somewhere stable for Tali to grow up,” Gibbs said, meaning it.

 

“Yeah, that’s what I was thinking. A nice home with a picket fence, and everything. Look, let me freshen up the coffee,” Tony said, his cheeks coloring for some reason.

 

Tony returned with the coffee pot and a plate of cookies. They were Animal Crackers. “Sorry, that’s all I have right now.”

 

All of a sudden, Gibbs was overcome with a flashback, Kelly snacking on the animal-shaped cookies, laughing as she drank a glass of milk. A milky mustache on her upper lip… Shannon laughing as she leaned over to wipe it off… A smile on her face as she glanced up and met his eyes… A boy with frightened dark eyes… A gun barrel, pointing straight at him… Tony shouting at him to stay with him… Pain, terrible pain in his leg, his chest, couldn't breathe…

 

“Hey. Hey, Jethro!”

 

There was a hand on his arm, warm, comforting. It grounded him, brought him back to reality with a sudden jerk. Gibbs looked up and was startled to find Tony sitting next to him on the couch, watching him with a worried expression. “What…?” he mumbled, confused.

 

“I don’t know. You sort of zoned out,” Tony said. “You went all pale.”

 

Embarrassed, Gibbs leaned forward and held his head in his hands.

 

“What’s going on?” Tony’s hand slid over his back. Rubbing him between his shoulder blades.

 

He shook his head, overwhelmed.

 

“C’mon, Gibbs, you’re scaring me here, and you know I don’t get scared easily.”

 

Gibbs couldn’t meet Tony’s eyes, just couldn’t. He was so close, within reach, but he was scared shitless. It would go wrong. Tony would hate him. He’d tell him to go to hell, kick him out and he’d never see him again. Oh God. His chest was tight. It hadn’t hurt like this in ages, not for over a year. He rubbed his chest, just over his heart, trying to ease the pain, gasping in shallow breaths.

 

In a slightly shaky voice, Tony threatened, “You want me to call Ducky? Because if I don’t get a straight answer out of you, if you don’t say something, I’m gonna…”

 

“I’m fine,” Gibbs said, trying to sound like he was okay, and failing miserably. He couldn’t catch his breath. “Shit.”

 

“Okay, that’s it. I’m getting Ducky on the phone.”

 

Gibbs felt the couch move as Tony rose. In a panic, he reached out blindly, grabbing at Tony’s hand. “No! Don’t!” Tony was back at his side, asking him what he should do, pleading with him to tell him what was wrong, and eventually Gibbs managed to get out the words, “You asked…why I came here… To seek…forgiveness.”

 

“Forgiveness?” Tony asked, nonplussed. He let go of Gibbs’ hand, leaving him feeling cold.

 

The overwhelming anxiety and residual fear, left by the memory of being shot, gradually receded, and Gibbs managed to catch his breath. Tony stayed by his side, on his six; Gibbs could tell without looking that he was watching him worriedly. Slowly sitting upright, he dared to turn his head and look at Tony. He seemed confused, as if he couldn’t believe his ears. Rubbing his chest again, Gibbs asked, “You don’t think I should… follow my own rules?”

 

“Yes, but… Why do you keep rubbing your heart like that?” Tony asked.

 

Self-conscious, Gibbs made his hands drop to his lap. He looked down and shrugged. “Doc says it’s all in my mind. It was real at first.” He met Tony’s eyes. “From the surgery. Now it’s… stress.” More like a flashback, followed by a panic attack, but he couldn't say that.

 

“And the way you zoned out?”

 

Knowing that he had to tell Tony the truth, or else this wouldn’t work out between them, Gibbs said, “I… I find myself going over the events leading up the shooting, thinking of things I could have done differently, things I _should_ have done.” Tony started to interrupt but Gibbs stopped him. “Let me get this out, then you can have your say. Okay?” Tony nodded reluctantly. “I’d think about it, over-think it, and my chest would start to hurt, my lungs ached and… and I couldn’t breathe.” He’d been so dizzy once, when climbing the stairs from the basement, he’d tumbled back down and had hurt his back, damaged his knee again. He had become irritable, hated social events more than ever, and he flew off the handle with little-to-no excuse. “I was in a bad place, Tony, and honestly, I didn’t know what was going on with me. It was like… like it wasn’t me. I didn’t feel right. I didn’t feel _anything_ half the time, and I turned on the people closest to me.” He met Tony’s eyes, and seeing the hurt in them, it hit home how awful he’d been to him. “I turned on you, treated you like I hated you, when that was the furthest from the truth. I don’t know why… I’d never…” Gibbs ran his hand over his mouth. “It took someone else…Taft… to point out what was going on, the way I’d changed, before I could even begin to recognize what I’d been doing. To you, to Abby, to all of you.”

 

He’d told Taft he was afraid of nothing, but that was far from the truth. It had taken him ages to admit it, and then confront it. He was as scared as the next man about his mortality, something he’d rarely been concerned about until he’d been shot by a mere boy. “I’ve been in battle, been shot at, bombed, and almost drowned… hell, I _did_ drown, and I’d be dead if it wasn’t for you, for your bravery, so why was I so scared? I’d recovered. Except my knee; that took longer. I was alive. There was no danger, but I was… I was so fucking scared,” he admitted shamefully. “It didn’t make any sense to me. I was sleeping with my Sig under my pillow. Safety off, load in the chamber.”

 

Tony was staring at him, wide-eyed. “You didn’t say anything. Damn it, I should have known…”

 

Shaking his head, Gibbs admitted, “I didn’t want anyone to know. Hell, I was getting up at night, sometimes several times in one night, to check these sounds I kept hearing. I was positive there was someone in the house, an armed intruder. I had to check every room, even went up in the attic once, like a kid looking under his bed for monsters. There was never anyone there. I thought I was going crazy. I was drinking, too. A lot. I woke up in Kelly’s bedroom once, under the covers. Woke up freezing my ass off more than once, in my car, once on the porch. I can’t drink any more.”

 

“Jethro…” Tony reached out and took his hand, and damned if it didn’t feel so good, so right, Gibbs almost broke down.

 

But he shook his head. “I ended up spending a time… a _lot_ of time… with Dr. Grace.”

 

“She helped you?”

 

Gibbs nodded. “I’m still working on it.”

 

“That’s good.”

 

“I missed you, real bad,” Gibbs confessed, with a rueful smile.

 

Tony protested softly, “Oh, Jethro.”

 

Gibbs held onto Tony’s hand for dear life when he confessed something to him that he’d never told anyone – not even Taft nor Grace. He said, in a whisper, “There’s something else. I… I see dead people.”

 

Tony looked at Gibbs with interest. “Are you…quoting from _The Sixth Sense_? Is this some misguided attempt to impress me?”

 

“ _What_ are you talking about?”

 

“It’s a movie. 1999. A kid sees ghosts all around him in everyday life. Bruce Willis was in it, and Haley Joel Osment,” Tony prompted. “Look, you’ve gotta admit that, coming from you,…this is _weird_.”

 

“You think I don’t know that? You know what? Forget it. Just forget it!”

 

Tony shook his head. “Oh no, you don’t get to retract the seeing dead people thing. Tell me about it. Are these re-animated people, like zombies? Or people you knew?”

 

“People I know,” Gibbs said, noting, too late, that he’d used the present tense. He looked at their still-linked hands for a long moment before saying, “Shannon. At first it was just her voice. Like that little voice you have in your head, telling you just go for it, or reminding you when you’ve done something wrong, only she wasn’t there. Except I saw her once; I thought I was dreaming.” He took a deep breath. “Then Mike Franks showed up. He comes around a lot. Bitches at me.”

 

Tony pulled a face. “Now _that’s_ scary.”

 

“I’ve seen Jenny and Paula, some others.”

 

“Dornie?” Tony asked, his voice hushed.

 

Gibbs nodded.

 

“I guess I wouldn’t mind seeing Dornie again. He was a good guy.” After a pause, Tony asked, “Anyone else?”

 

A whole diner full of dead people, and a few live ones mixed in, but Gibbs wasn’t going to tell him that. “Yeah. Kelly. I’ve seen my daughter. Spoken to her. When I was shot… on the table… I went somewhere. Somewhere we used to go camping.” Gibbs smiled at the bittersweet memory. “She reminded me how we’d had some fun days, as a family. But that we… that _I_ didn’t have them any more. I spent too much time thinking about the past. She told me I had to stop, that I had to think of the future and how people were counting on me.” He turned to Tony and said, “It took me a long time to figure out what she meant. So long that by the time I understood, you were already gone, and I realized what I’d done to you, how I’d driven you away, and Tim told me how what I’d done to you was plain wrong, and he told me to get my head out of my ass and tell you… and… tell you…”

 

Tony reached up and gently brushed his fingers over Gibbs’ cheeks. Gibbs blinked and realized his face was wet. He wiped his eyes with the heels of his hands, and tried to turn away, but Tony wouldn’t let him.

 

“Hey, c’mon, it’s all right.”

 

Gibbs shook his head. “It _isn’t_ , not by a long shot.”

 

After a moment, Tony asked, amused, “Probie told you to get your head out of your ass? He’s grown some balls. What’s with him and that goatee though?” He reached over to the end table and snagged a small box of tissues. “Kids always have snotty noses,” he said in explanation. Instead of giving Gibbs the tissues, he wiped his face with gentle strokes, even wiping his nose. When Gibbs looked affronted, Tony laughed and handed him a few clean tissues. “Do it yourself, then.”

 

Gibbs blew his nose and stuck the tissues in his pocket. He could feel his face heating up, and Tony, damn him, appeared to find his embarrassment interesting.

 

Tony looked at Gibbs speculatively. “You know, it isn’t at all surprising that you have PSTD, considering everything you’ve been through,” he said, sounding practical. “So you see things that may or may not be there. You go to a shrink, and you’re man enough to shed a tear or two when the occasion calls for it. Wow, you’re blushing. I don’t think I’ve ever seen that before, Jethro,” he teased.

 

Gibbs made a derisive sound.

 

“So, what else did McAdvice suggest you tell me?” Tony asked.

 

“What d’you mean?” Gibbs eyes him, uncomfortable with the way this was going.

 

“There’s more. I can tell.” Tony pointed a finger at him. “Remember, I know you. I _should_ , after working with you all those years.”

 

This was his last and only chance. He had to come clean. It was harder to talk about his personal issues than it was to face down an armed criminal; Tony knew it, and wasn’t giving him any leeway. Gibbs took a deep breath and said, “McGee told me I should get down on my fucking knees and beg for your forgiveness.” He looked straight into Tony’s eyes, where he saw nothing but acceptance and understanding. It was crazy, as he hadn’t even gotten to the part where he was going to ask Tony to forgive him. “Tony…”

 

“I’m right here.”

 

“My knees hurt too much for me to kneel, so maybe you can imagine me doing it?”

 

Tony smiled in easy acceptance. “I think I can do that.”

 

Gibbs nodded. “I need… I want you to know that if I could turn back the clock, I’d do it in a second. I never meant to hurt you like I did, and I _know_ I did… really badly…and I’m so sorry… more than I can say.” He inhaled a ragged breath. “Like Tim said, I owe you an explanation, and a whole hell of a lot more. There’s no excuse for what I did, how I treated you, even if I wasn’t in my right mind… hell, I don’t know why you even opened the front door to me today.”

 

“I think you’ve explained pretty well. I understand. And I opened my door to you because, even though you proven yourself to be a real bastard, and I still hate you, I don’t want you to beg."

 

Jethro nodded. "You hate me," he said, defeated.

 

"Okay, maybe not so much as I did. I hate what you did to me, and that's not going to go away anytime soon, but... hell, that doesn't mean I can't forgive you. Now you’ve got me crying like a girl,” Tony said, with a watery chuckle.

 

Gibbs had to get it all out, so he plunged ahead, saying, “McGee...he told me to get rid of my anger, to exorcize it, and that if I care for you at all, I need to… to tell you how much I value you and… how much I…” Oh God, why was this so difficult?

 

 _‘Because it’s so important,_ ’ he heard Shannon say. _‘Because you need to fix what you've broken.’_

Swallowing hard, Gibbs said, “I need to… need to…”

 

“Take a few breaths,” Tony coached. “We don’t want any more panic attacks.”

 

Gibbs did as Tony instructed. He took in a few breaths and slowly the panicky feeling subsided. Okay. He could do this. He _had_ to do it and get it right. “I… I should have told you a long time ago. McGee, he went on at me – God, it has to be ten years back – he kept telling me you deserved to know the truth. And you do, Tony. You do. That case? In Beaverdale? We… Tim and me… and afterwards… when we came back… he said… I knew he was right, but I _couldn’t_.”

 

“Slow down. I don’t understand. What’re you trying to say?”

 

Gibbs heard what sounded suspiciously like Shannon tapping her foot impatiently. Knowing he’d gotten way off track, he gave his head a little shake to clear it. He reached out and took both of Tony’s hands in his, for something to anchor him as much as for any other reason. He said, more calmly, “Tim knew, all those years ago, how I felt about you, even when I was too much of a coward to admit it. He told me to tell you. He said that I’d have to work at it, have to give you lots of attention, and to show you that I mean it. So you understand, so you believe I’m sincere. And I am…I _am_.”

 

Tony’s eyes were wide, his lips parted, and Gibbs was pretty sure that by that point, he was getting the picture. He gripped Tony’s fingers, probably too tight. “Tim told me to tell you… that I… hell, I love you to death, like _really_ love you, and Tim said–”

 

Gibbs never got the rest of his rambling confession out because Tony leaned forward and planted a kiss on his mouth. It didn’t last long, and as soon as their lips parted, Gibbs, somewhat dazed, breathed, “Tim said–.”

 

Tony cut in, “Tim said this, Tim said that! Well, you know what? I don’t care what he said! Fuck Tim!” He threw his arms around Gibbs’ shoulders and kissed him properly. If Gibbs hadn’t been so intoxicated by the softness of Tony’s lips, and busy angling his head so Tony could easily drive his tongue into his mouth, and if he wasn’t getting hard purely from hearing Tony’s satisfied moans, he would have laughed out loud.

 

<< >> << >> << >> **the end** << >> << >> << >>

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm planning a sequel - or more of a continuation.


End file.
